Hewo, evwewone.
I'm sick. I haven't been sick in years. All that splurging has wrecked havoc on my immune system. I just wanna sleep. But I am an important person and I am needed. At least I like to think so.
The cookie dough I bought for charity is still sitting in my fridge. (There are all kinds of pimps in the cookie business, trust me.) Gotta cook them and give them away.
Sorry I can't chit chat. I am feeling awful and must get out of here. I will post another blog soon, once I am up to the challenge.
Kristen and I are suppose to start training for Goofey. She ran a 4:35. I had those dreams last year, but managed to put them on the back burner. I wonder what it will take to get me back to my fighting weight.
Cheers and feliz Thursday!
Goofey-wanna-be.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
5-Year-Old Pimp Hustles Unsuspecting Marathoner
Hello All!
How is everyone? I am getting hungry. It's almost 6 pm, do you know where your next meal is? I refrain from asking this question during my PMS week. There are times I just feel like a large Blue Whale. Have you seen those? They don't have teeth like we do. They have these long bristley-looking things and when they pull back their 'lips' the suck in water and everything within suction-distance. The bristles act as a strainer when they expel the water back out, but keep the food in the mouth. That's me. Sucking everything in and spitting out the bones, gristle and whatever else managed to get in the way...wrappers, price sticker, someone's arm. Just kidding about the wrapper.
And this being the season for charity - i.e. the school fundraisers - I (buyer)forgot that I had been a charitable soul and purchased a box of Girlscout cookies for a co-worker(pusher), until yesterday when he informed me to pay up. I, much to my dismay, ordered the "All Abouts". These are shortbread cookies dipped in chocolate on one side. Damn, damn, damn. They are still in the car, unopened.
I bet none of you knew this: Girlscout cookies are possessed. When you're all alone, minding your own business and the cookies are within reach, they'll start talkin to ya. Oh yeah, they start with a whisper. "Michelle". You look around, no one there. "Michelle". Before long, you're on your knees, tears streaming down your cheeks because your hand was drawn to the box against your will. The more you resist the louder the beckoning, the greater the desire. Finally, you wrench your hand away, but now, your hand smells like shortbread and chocolate. Now, you feel dirty; how could you? You feel used and abused by those hustlin' Girlscouts, peddling a moment of pleasure in a colorful box, having you think its for a good cause and 'it'll make ya feel good' when you donate to their cause. 'Run! Run, dammit! Save yourself' is all you can think, but your feet are like lead and your stomach, interestingly, is empty and growling. 'One won't hurt, right?'
For all of you who are battling the Pimps that call themselves "Girlscouts" year after year, I feel your pain. If you or someone you know needs help, call 1-800-IVE-BIN-PMPD. Operators are standing by to take your call. Remember, you're not alone.
The above statement is solely expressed by the hunger pains of an overweight woman and in no way reflect the opinions and feelings of Blogspot or the Half-Crazy Marathon Group. Portion Control is advised.
Love you, Pam! (She's the GodMother...) He-he. Just Kidding.
How is everyone? I am getting hungry. It's almost 6 pm, do you know where your next meal is? I refrain from asking this question during my PMS week. There are times I just feel like a large Blue Whale. Have you seen those? They don't have teeth like we do. They have these long bristley-looking things and when they pull back their 'lips' the suck in water and everything within suction-distance. The bristles act as a strainer when they expel the water back out, but keep the food in the mouth. That's me. Sucking everything in and spitting out the bones, gristle and whatever else managed to get in the way...wrappers, price sticker, someone's arm. Just kidding about the wrapper.
And this being the season for charity - i.e. the school fundraisers - I (buyer)forgot that I had been a charitable soul and purchased a box of Girlscout cookies for a co-worker(pusher), until yesterday when he informed me to pay up. I, much to my dismay, ordered the "All Abouts". These are shortbread cookies dipped in chocolate on one side. Damn, damn, damn. They are still in the car, unopened.
I bet none of you knew this: Girlscout cookies are possessed. When you're all alone, minding your own business and the cookies are within reach, they'll start talkin to ya. Oh yeah, they start with a whisper. "Michelle". You look around, no one there. "Michelle". Before long, you're on your knees, tears streaming down your cheeks because your hand was drawn to the box against your will. The more you resist the louder the beckoning, the greater the desire. Finally, you wrench your hand away, but now, your hand smells like shortbread and chocolate. Now, you feel dirty; how could you? You feel used and abused by those hustlin' Girlscouts, peddling a moment of pleasure in a colorful box, having you think its for a good cause and 'it'll make ya feel good' when you donate to their cause. 'Run! Run, dammit! Save yourself' is all you can think, but your feet are like lead and your stomach, interestingly, is empty and growling. 'One won't hurt, right?'
For all of you who are battling the Pimps that call themselves "Girlscouts" year after year, I feel your pain. If you or someone you know needs help, call 1-800-IVE-BIN-PMPD. Operators are standing by to take your call. Remember, you're not alone.
The above statement is solely expressed by the hunger pains of an overweight woman and in no way reflect the opinions and feelings of Blogspot or the Half-Crazy Marathon Group. Portion Control is advised.
Love you, Pam! (She's the GodMother...) He-he. Just Kidding.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
High-Class Stalker Seeks Cultured,Half-Crazy Woman with Hamhock Thighs...and Benefits.
Hello Everyone!
I have survived the Bob Coleman 10K. Who the hell is Bob, anyway? (Forgive me, I am distracted by some man trying to pick up a woman a few computers down - not sure he's making any headway, but 'tis the season, right?...I think she just got duped into giving him her email - she thinks the conversation is about business and I am sure by the way he is swaying his hips in front of her that he is thinking of a whole different kind of business. Ah, well...no guts-no glory.)
My stalker. I think I saw him as I started up the hill for my morning run. I think he has lost interest. Is it because of the extra weight? Is the thrill gone? I mean, he's no rocket scientist...
He doesn't even pause or linger mysteriously anymore, he just revs his engine and hightails it to work, I assume. What's a girl gotta do in this town to get stalked? I used to get honked at too! It must be the weight. My hair is growing back, I've got the pre-pubescent break-outs under control. What!?! I even had the capri tights on...I was showing a little leg and he zoomed right on by. Wait...maybe he's changed cars. There was a 4-door sedan stalled at a stop sign at the last hill. Looked like an Altima. Maybe my stalker is moving up in the world. I have a high class stalker! (I wonder... if he smells anything like those candles I bought at Kristen's party...fahgeddabouit.)
Anyhoo, let me tell you about this yoga class I took at Butterfly Yoga. I got there early and no one was there. I checked my watch to make sure I had the right day. Shortly, a woman pulled up, and with her windows still pulled up, she began to ask me if there was a class? (Yes, I know) I winced to convey a "What?" She then realized her error and pressed the button that connected our two worlds. After enlightening her, I focused on the dutiful task of organizing the junk in my car. When I looked up, she was at the entrance showing me she had a key and motioning for me to 'come on in'. We did the informalities, sign in, find a spot and sit and wait. Before long, the instructor showed up and so did 7 other people.
Before we got started, one of the other newbies asked if the class could finish before 7pm since she had to meet someone for a movie. "Absolutely, we are only here to serve you, your divaness." Ugh! About three minutes into sitting cross-legged, my left leg from the knee down falls entirely asleep. (For those of you who don't have big thighs, let me explain what had occurred. When the knee bends at greater than a 90 degree angle on a fat hamhock of a leg, AND when you place the other hamhock on top of that , oxygen-suppling arteries get pinched off like a water hose bent in half to stop the flow. If you can save the limb before the needles start, things are fine, but if you can't, then it immediately goes numb. [Dear God, if I do a downward facing dog now, it will be literal.] ) Here now is the trick: to move that limb when you there is no feeling and no oxygen supplying the muscle to MOVE the leg. Much like a washing machine on slow, I rocked my hips left and right ever so quietly - I had shorts on and the tell-tale sound of skin unsticking from the mat was what I was trying to avoid - and, oh, there it moved a little. I looked around to see if anyone noticed or rather if there leg was asleep too. No hip rocking going on. The girl next to me was already contorted like a pretzel...show off! Luckily we had to go to all fours next, so the leg was saved as well as my pride. And all my joints only popped for the first few minutes. We did various poses - level 1- and I did them the best I could. One involved one leg bent in front of you while the other was extended straight behind you and then you fold forward. "Forehead to he floor," was the instructor's instruction. He failed to instruct my legs to do that. He came around and help to adjust us if need be, and somehow, on a exhale, my forehead was on the floor. There was joy for a moment, until I thought, 'How the hell am I gonna get out this pose now?' Who know that stretching would be so strenous.
Anyway, I loved the class. Wish I could take it all the time, but it gets expensive if you want someone to tell you which way to fold. For you skeptics afraid to try yoga, you already know the moves:
Pose one - forward bend...facing away from the mirror, bend fwd and view your newly lifted derrier between your legs.
Pose two - warrior pose...while holding reaching for the ice cream, reach for the spoon as well.
Pose three- trunk twist...when your kids are acting up while your driving and you reach back to pop them upside the head.
Pose four - dead man's pose... lying in bed, usually right before the alarm goes off.
See, half of you can already do the first level! I'm so proud of you...
Now, go tell people you're cultured.
L8R, Crazy
I have survived the Bob Coleman 10K. Who the hell is Bob, anyway? (Forgive me, I am distracted by some man trying to pick up a woman a few computers down - not sure he's making any headway, but 'tis the season, right?...I think she just got duped into giving him her email - she thinks the conversation is about business and I am sure by the way he is swaying his hips in front of her that he is thinking of a whole different kind of business. Ah, well...no guts-no glory.)
My stalker. I think I saw him as I started up the hill for my morning run. I think he has lost interest. Is it because of the extra weight? Is the thrill gone? I mean, he's no rocket scientist...
He doesn't even pause or linger mysteriously anymore, he just revs his engine and hightails it to work, I assume. What's a girl gotta do in this town to get stalked? I used to get honked at too! It must be the weight. My hair is growing back, I've got the pre-pubescent break-outs under control. What!?! I even had the capri tights on...I was showing a little leg and he zoomed right on by. Wait...maybe he's changed cars. There was a 4-door sedan stalled at a stop sign at the last hill. Looked like an Altima. Maybe my stalker is moving up in the world. I have a high class stalker! (I wonder... if he smells anything like those candles I bought at Kristen's party...fahgeddabouit.)
Anyhoo, let me tell you about this yoga class I took at Butterfly Yoga. I got there early and no one was there. I checked my watch to make sure I had the right day. Shortly, a woman pulled up, and with her windows still pulled up, she began to ask me if there was a class? (Yes, I know) I winced to convey a "What?" She then realized her error and pressed the button that connected our two worlds. After enlightening her, I focused on the dutiful task of organizing the junk in my car. When I looked up, she was at the entrance showing me she had a key and motioning for me to 'come on in'. We did the informalities, sign in, find a spot and sit and wait. Before long, the instructor showed up and so did 7 other people.
Before we got started, one of the other newbies asked if the class could finish before 7pm since she had to meet someone for a movie. "Absolutely, we are only here to serve you, your divaness." Ugh! About three minutes into sitting cross-legged, my left leg from the knee down falls entirely asleep. (For those of you who don't have big thighs, let me explain what had occurred. When the knee bends at greater than a 90 degree angle on a fat hamhock of a leg, AND when you place the other hamhock on top of that , oxygen-suppling arteries get pinched off like a water hose bent in half to stop the flow. If you can save the limb before the needles start, things are fine, but if you can't, then it immediately goes numb. [Dear God, if I do a downward facing dog now, it will be literal.] ) Here now is the trick: to move that limb when you there is no feeling and no oxygen supplying the muscle to MOVE the leg. Much like a washing machine on slow, I rocked my hips left and right ever so quietly - I had shorts on and the tell-tale sound of skin unsticking from the mat was what I was trying to avoid - and, oh, there it moved a little. I looked around to see if anyone noticed or rather if there leg was asleep too. No hip rocking going on. The girl next to me was already contorted like a pretzel...show off! Luckily we had to go to all fours next, so the leg was saved as well as my pride. And all my joints only popped for the first few minutes. We did various poses - level 1- and I did them the best I could. One involved one leg bent in front of you while the other was extended straight behind you and then you fold forward. "Forehead to he floor," was the instructor's instruction. He failed to instruct my legs to do that. He came around and help to adjust us if need be, and somehow, on a exhale, my forehead was on the floor. There was joy for a moment, until I thought, 'How the hell am I gonna get out this pose now?' Who know that stretching would be so strenous.
Anyway, I loved the class. Wish I could take it all the time, but it gets expensive if you want someone to tell you which way to fold. For you skeptics afraid to try yoga, you already know the moves:
Pose one - forward bend...facing away from the mirror, bend fwd and view your newly lifted derrier between your legs.
Pose two - warrior pose...while holding reaching for the ice cream, reach for the spoon as well.
Pose three- trunk twist...when your kids are acting up while your driving and you reach back to pop them upside the head.
Pose four - dead man's pose... lying in bed, usually right before the alarm goes off.
See, half of you can already do the first level! I'm so proud of you...
Now, go tell people you're cultured.
L8R, Crazy
Saturday, February 03, 2007
One Canine: .5 miles // Geritol walking-fool: .75 miles // 2 Hamhocks finding their way in my tights: Priceless!
Morning All! Its a glorious, and cold, morning.
I decided to forgo the coffee and shower to give you the low-down on my first race of the year. (Although 'race' is a term that I will us loosely today, thank you.)
Picture it...Clinton...7:'below-freezing-nordic-weather' 30 a.m. As I pulled onto the trace I felt fine. Apparently the parking lot wasn't as big as one never having been there might have thought. Cars flanked the street on both sides like a grove. 'Where'd all these people come from? They must be the 'Full Crazies.' I parked and heard the announcer that the runners had 10 minutes. The blocks of ice I called my feet thudded to the tables to get my packet and number (I retrieved my parents' as well since both couldn't make it. I'm wondering if their excuse were true) I see the two guys from work that I talked into walking, both shivering like chihuahuas. And, I see the big girl that my Father always chases down whenever he sees her. I had just enough time to pin on my number and drop off my packets in T'Knesha's car and make it back to the start. I saw Kristen - another only half-crazy who was pretending full-on crazy like myself- looking all svelte in her runner's garb. (Forgive me for making this sound like Romper Room, but I saw a lot of faces I hadn't seen in a while. I saw Alice - She says Hi, Susan; Mary Margaret, and David Shumate - not running-waterbearer.
Unlike the Marine Corps Marathon, the gun was loud and satisfying. I thought to ask him if he'd shoot at my feet to get them going but the adrenaline of the crowd spilled over in my direction and kinetic energy guided me forward. A lady with an atheletic mutt passed me. (Damn, forgot to get a canine to pull me along in the race. Note to self: Check ebay for a great dane with a long leash.) No basset hounds were near, so, so far things are going well. Until...I would say it was about 3/4 of a mile when I noticed movement to my right. Damn it, if it wasn't a WALKER! The guy had to be twice my age. I checked my bulb overhead and once the dust settled, it came on. 'I have got to get my butt into gear'. I outran the walkers in last year's Legal Beagle, not by much, but who's splitting hairs? I just want to know what do they actually put in the Geritol?
1.5 Miles, read the sign. For a split second I felt relieved, then I remembered that I signed up for the 10K. I've only reached half of the half. The walker turned around ahead of me and took a mere glance at the heaving mass that he was about to pass. I can't remember if I smiled back or stuck my tongue out at him but he simply sashayed by without a word. By mile 2, I noticed something dragging. I didn't look down to check, but I could feel it. Eventually, I took a walk break and decided to see what it was. What the...!? Who snuck these 2 huge hamhocks down my tights expecting me to run with them? They weren't there when I started! Now, I surely can't disrobe in front of all these people to unload them, they would think I was Half-Crazy or something. Boy did they get heavy with each step.
It wasn't until mile 4 when old habits were finally exorcised from my memory. By accident, I leaned back to catch a deep breath of air and felt almost gazelle-like for 2 seconds. RUN UPRIGHT. Duh! I had been leaning too far forward. I may have been concentrating on the approaching sound of a vehicle so I could lunge myself in front of it to put me out of my misery. But for those 2 seconds I forgot about ending the pain and felt much better. (note to all of you: don't do like I did and sabotage yourself back to square 1. Let other people do it so you can pass them while walking with your dog.)
By the end of the race, I was greeted by Kristen who jogged it in with me to the chutes. That was nice. I thought about dropping trow(trowsers) right there, grabbing a hamhock in each hand and slamming them down on the ground like a touchdown. "Who's funny idea were these, huh?!" Oh yeah, they were mine whenever our work decided to have a luncheon every week during the holidays.
Interestingly enough, The two guys I talked into walking their first 5K - both place 2nd and 3rd for their age group. Mary Margaret placed and last but not least, our very own Kristen Hendrix. No...I didn't place, but, the girl in the 18 yr old category that finished less than a minute ahead of me placed. The guy I had been leap-frogging with the whole way...placed. That's it! Next race, I'm checking in as either a 7 or 70 yr old.
So the goal is: drop 30 pounds by next January so I can run a decent time in Goofy. Hamhocks be damned!
(Last note to self: find out what the hell is in those Geritol pills.)
Take care, Crazies!
I decided to forgo the coffee and shower to give you the low-down on my first race of the year. (Although 'race' is a term that I will us loosely today, thank you.)
Picture it...Clinton...7:'below-freezing-nordic-weather' 30 a.m. As I pulled onto the trace I felt fine. Apparently the parking lot wasn't as big as one never having been there might have thought. Cars flanked the street on both sides like a grove. 'Where'd all these people come from? They must be the 'Full Crazies.' I parked and heard the announcer that the runners had 10 minutes. The blocks of ice I called my feet thudded to the tables to get my packet and number (I retrieved my parents' as well since both couldn't make it. I'm wondering if their excuse were true) I see the two guys from work that I talked into walking, both shivering like chihuahuas. And, I see the big girl that my Father always chases down whenever he sees her. I had just enough time to pin on my number and drop off my packets in T'Knesha's car and make it back to the start. I saw Kristen - another only half-crazy who was pretending full-on crazy like myself- looking all svelte in her runner's garb. (Forgive me for making this sound like Romper Room, but I saw a lot of faces I hadn't seen in a while. I saw Alice - She says Hi, Susan; Mary Margaret, and David Shumate - not running-waterbearer.
Unlike the Marine Corps Marathon, the gun was loud and satisfying. I thought to ask him if he'd shoot at my feet to get them going but the adrenaline of the crowd spilled over in my direction and kinetic energy guided me forward. A lady with an atheletic mutt passed me. (Damn, forgot to get a canine to pull me along in the race. Note to self: Check ebay for a great dane with a long leash.) No basset hounds were near, so, so far things are going well. Until...I would say it was about 3/4 of a mile when I noticed movement to my right. Damn it, if it wasn't a WALKER! The guy had to be twice my age. I checked my bulb overhead and once the dust settled, it came on. 'I have got to get my butt into gear'. I outran the walkers in last year's Legal Beagle, not by much, but who's splitting hairs? I just want to know what do they actually put in the Geritol?
1.5 Miles, read the sign. For a split second I felt relieved, then I remembered that I signed up for the 10K. I've only reached half of the half. The walker turned around ahead of me and took a mere glance at the heaving mass that he was about to pass. I can't remember if I smiled back or stuck my tongue out at him but he simply sashayed by without a word. By mile 2, I noticed something dragging. I didn't look down to check, but I could feel it. Eventually, I took a walk break and decided to see what it was. What the...!? Who snuck these 2 huge hamhocks down my tights expecting me to run with them? They weren't there when I started! Now, I surely can't disrobe in front of all these people to unload them, they would think I was Half-Crazy or something. Boy did they get heavy with each step.
It wasn't until mile 4 when old habits were finally exorcised from my memory. By accident, I leaned back to catch a deep breath of air and felt almost gazelle-like for 2 seconds. RUN UPRIGHT. Duh! I had been leaning too far forward. I may have been concentrating on the approaching sound of a vehicle so I could lunge myself in front of it to put me out of my misery. But for those 2 seconds I forgot about ending the pain and felt much better. (note to all of you: don't do like I did and sabotage yourself back to square 1. Let other people do it so you can pass them while walking with your dog.)
By the end of the race, I was greeted by Kristen who jogged it in with me to the chutes. That was nice. I thought about dropping trow(trowsers) right there, grabbing a hamhock in each hand and slamming them down on the ground like a touchdown. "Who's funny idea were these, huh?!" Oh yeah, they were mine whenever our work decided to have a luncheon every week during the holidays.
Interestingly enough, The two guys I talked into walking their first 5K - both place 2nd and 3rd for their age group. Mary Margaret placed and last but not least, our very own Kristen Hendrix. No...I didn't place, but, the girl in the 18 yr old category that finished less than a minute ahead of me placed. The guy I had been leap-frogging with the whole way...placed. That's it! Next race, I'm checking in as either a 7 or 70 yr old.
So the goal is: drop 30 pounds by next January so I can run a decent time in Goofy. Hamhocks be damned!
(Last note to self: find out what the hell is in those Geritol pills.)
Take care, Crazies!
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