Monday, August 31, 2009

Jock Strap in the Van, Take One

Top of Mt. Hood. The Race is On!

Our Team

Yeah I've been MIA, but my bad ass is back from Oregon's Hood to Coast Relay with stories to tell!!!! My first story is this:

197 miles
12 team members (Team Strands/Puma Cats)
21 hours, 37 minutes
30th place out of 1,004 teams
6:33 minute/mile avg pace

That's right. Go back and re-read it if you have to. I am going to milk those stats like nobody's business because this is the only time in my life I will have anywhere close to these bragging rights. I will have you know, I am personally responsible for bringing the min/mile average up (that sounds like it's a good thing, but "up" is definitely NOT a good thing in this situation). I'm glad my team mates all ran 5 min/miles so I could do my 7:30s and we could come away with a decent overall average.

For me 7:30 min/miles is phenomenal but when you're on a team with these ridiculous athletes, you kinda lose perspective. I thought to myself: shit what is wrong with me? I should be able to run 5 minute miles. It can't be that hard! I am such a loser. Again, you lose perspective over 21 hours and no sleep and a smelly van and elite athletes and too many Cliff Bars and no coffee and one too many porta potties that smell like the inside of someone's crotch.

My second story is: I did not defecate by the side of the road or in my pants. I did not have sharting or extreme farting in the van. In fact, I didn't poop for three days. When the race was done and we were in Portland drinking strong draft beer, things started moving through. I left some nice turd balls at Henry's in Portland.

So the experience!!! Chance of a lifetime. If I had not won this contest I would never find myself in a position like this. I can't thank enough for taking me along. If you haven't signed up with them on their social network/running/biking/fitness site you should. It was seriously like being transported into someone else's life.

We arrived to Portland and to meet up with our Puma team. We're given at least $400 worth of gear each including new training shoes, running jackets, running pants, tech shirts, t shirts, shorts, singlets, water bottles, etc. Because Ken and I are goofy this way we go back to our room and add up how much it's all worth cause the price tags are still on. Then we model it for each other. We keep looking at each other saying, "we are way out of our league." But it's fun anyway.

Next day we get in our vans and head up to Mt. Hood. Our team mates are studs. One runs for New Balance. Another is training for the Olympic Trials. I remind them that I ran my first marathon in 4:03 this year!!!! I'm sure they were really impressed inside. Hey ya'll look at me I am a stud too.

Our start time for the relay was 6:30 p.m. I was the 7th runner so it was about 10pm when I put on my headlamp and reflective vest (that's all I wore) and waited for my runner to show up with the baton. It was craziness standing on the side of the road with someone yelling out the team number as runners came in to you could grab the baton and go. I was so pumped to run I grabbed the baton, slapped that baby around my wrist and took off. About a half mile later I turned onto some back country Oregonian road with no street lights. No one around. It was eerie and surreal. I would occasionally get passed by some punk who thought he was cool passing a girl. I would scream at him, "Slow down you show off! What do you think this is? A race?"

I ran my heart out, literally. I left it on the side of the road, oozing. The course was so hilly for those 5.65 miles, but I felt I couldn't slow down. The team was depending on me. I was in a movie and the crowd was waiting for me and the girl in the wheelchair was going to get up and walk if I got there in a fast time and the band would be playing and fireworks would go off and everyone would put me up on their shoulders and....well, not really, but I booked it as fast as I could probably because I was afraid of being abducted, raped and left for dead on that road.

My next two legs went surprisingly well given I was going on no sleep and a steady diet of trail mix, Goldfish, and Twizzlers. After 21 hours ending up at the finish on the Oregon Coast was pretty damn cool.

And the van smell? Kind of like wearing a dirty jock strap like a mask for hours on end. I finished my first leg and promptly took out the Huggies and wiped myself down. No one else did this, and I didn't ever do it again. We all just stunk, pure and simple. With each hour and each run the stank increased. You kinda got used to it. Eau de schweaty nuts. I might bottle it.

We saw lots of clever van drag along the way:

Some of my favorite team names were: The Third Leg is the Hardest, the Rusty Trombone, the Dirty Sanchez, the Nads, the What's That Smell, the Case of the Good Runs, the Terds, the My Husband's Third Leg is Short...and the list goes on.

So I made it and lesson learned. Yes I'm waxing all philosophical on you. The richness of life is found in continuing to move outside of your comfort zone. Thanks for all of your support friends!!!!

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Wish They Were Mine

It's finally here. We're off to Oregon in the morning for the relay. I will be in seat 13E. Right in the middle. Just where I love to be since you can't look out the window and can't stretch your feet in the aisle. I hope I have a really heavy set and odorous person to my right and a really talkative person to my left who has just come back from a convention about how to treat hemorrhoids. I do seem to attract these types and the only redeeming thing is that it makes for some good blogging.

Speaking of good blogging - awhile back in an effort to attract more support for me winning the Hood to Coast Relay contest, I promised some boob shots. In clothing, of course. Vanilla seemed to really get excited about this and now that I've gone on to win the damn contest I feel obligated. Only problem is, I don't have any tatas. None. But I do have socks. So here ya go:

That rack would be SO nice if they were my own and not a pair of khaki knee highs from Kohl's.

So I've done my shopping from the recommended packing list. Here are some of the goods:

Most of the stuff revolves around pain relief and hygiene. I have never before taken a bath with Huggies baby wipes, but I think this might be in my immediate future. Such wipes can also be used for ass wiping (and not just the asses of babies), so they always come in handy.

So wish us luck. Wish for us that:
  • All of my farting and possible sharting is taken with good humor
  • Our team doesn't hate us because we're so old and slow
  • I look good in my black ninja outfit
  • It doesn't rain
  • Our marriage can withstand a 197 mile relay
  • I don't shit my pants (please wish really hard on this one)
  • Ken's possible torn calf holds up (and I don't mean baby cow)
  • The hemorrhoid convention was interesting

More fun and interesting blogging to come once the adventure commences at 6:30pm Friday night!!

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Thunderpants In the Van

I met some girls who are also running the Hood to Coast in Oregon. They have a group here in Longmont called the Maniac Moms. In sharp contrast to my Boulder Strider's running group these people are the most supportive and friendly types ever. We took a 12 mile trail run yesterday and got to talking about the relay. The Maniac Moms have done it several times. They gave me some tips and told me some stories. One of the stories, in particular, caught my attention and gave me cause for concern.

For those of you who don't know, when you do these crazy running relays it takes about 24 hours. You are in a van with five of your other team mates for that entire time unless you are running one of your legs. I've been thinking a lot lately about what this means, especially since I don't know any of my team mates except husband, Ken. Won't the B.O. be unbearable? What will they feed me? What if I have to crap, pee? What if I hate one of my team mates? What if some one hates me? What if I get fondled?

What if...what if...what if...

And you know this was on my mind: FARTS

Well, this is the story that was told by the relay veterans. She said she had the worst gas ever in the team van and that one of her team mates actually got the dry heaves due to the intense odor. Stuck in the van with runner's farts. It's inevitable.

I'll be candid: I am a farter. Any friends/family of mine will tell you that. I have quite a reputation. Not only do I fart frequently, but I fart intensely and with extreme odor. I am not really shy about my farting. The best day in my husband's life was when we were dating and I let one fly. This automatically gave him the freedom to do the same. He had been holding it for days and was miserable. He knew at that moment he would marry me: someone who wouldn't judge him for his farts.

I have been known to fart on airplanes, in movie theaters, on people's laps, in classrooms. I, like many runners, fart a lot while I run, but also after the fact. This takes me back to my vision of me with five other team mates stuck in a van for 24 hours. I will certainly be queen farter, because I have no choice. How do you think this will be received? Even if I can manage to mask the sound, there is no masking the stench. I am worried. I know I won't be the only one. I just hope this is a well humored bunch.

What's your best fart story? C'mon, you know you do it.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Can't Pick Your Nose With Those Fingers

Not like me to post twice in one day, but I couldn't resist. Got this email from my husband today along with this picture:

"I am making the switch. I am a five fingers guy now."

He has been having lots of pulled calves, groins, etc. Thinks this might help. Thoughts?????

Feeling Helpless

What's the stupidest or most random way you've ever injured yourself?

It's ironic. I can run long distances and contort myself into all kinds of yoga poses all without much pain or discomfort. So guess how I hurt myself this week? Let me set the stage:

It's Tuesday morning. A beautiful morning. I decide to get in some miles on the treadmill prior to yoga class. I go in early, set up my mat in the yoga room to save my spot and hit the treadmill. I have a great run and arrive in the yoga room all perky and talkative with my fellow yogalites. Class is starting and I realize I could move my mat over to give myself more space. I lean over, twist, grab the mat and pull. Sweet mother! Something gives in my back and takes my breath away. I lay on my mat, helpless. My teacher notices. She tells the class to keep up the sun salutations for a moment and kneels beside my lifeless body. "You okay?"she asks? I manage, "Just give me a minute. I hurt my back." "Put this ball under your ass," she says "and do a restorative bridge." "I can't," I say. "I can't even lift up my ass." Meanwhile the class is on their 29th sun salutation and beginning to grow weary of that move. Someone gets me Motrin. Everyone starts to diagnose: "Oh it must be her sciatic nerve" and "I know someone who knew someone who was on the toilet and reached for a magazine and the same thing happened" and "I think you've just pulled your scrotum iliac out of joint." Do I have a scrotum?

So I lay there. And lay there. The class goes on. I think if I just lay here through a few more downward dogs I'll be fine. I try to get up. No dice. I lay there some more. Finally, I manage to stand up and walk to the side of the room. The class claps and cheers as if I am some NFL athlete who has been down on the field with a concussion and has just managed to move to the sidelines.

Two days later: still lots of pain. Lower back and to the right, just above the right glute. Yet way deep in my back in places I didn't even know I had muscles. Running is completely out of the question. I tried that yesterday and made it 436 feet according to my Garmin. 2 calories.

This is where a runner with some races on the books starts to panic. Shit! Hood to Coast relay is a week from tomorrow. Crap! I have a half marathon in a month. Holy BQ! My marathon is in 89 days!

But even bigger than the races is the psychological/mental component. Running is a part of my day. Almost everyday. It centers me. It helps me work stuff out. It makes me feel productive. It takes me out into nature. It makes me a better person, inside and out. It's tough to not get that fix everyday. Not being able to run is a true test.

So friends, tell me, what's the most random way you've injured yourself? How do you cope with not being able to run?

Monday, August 17, 2009

It Is Totally Unacceptable to Defecate

It's funny how when you live with a body part your whole life, you don't have an objective view of it. Kind of like when you go to the beach and see this:

The owner of this gut might know that he has a larger than average stomach area, but might not entirely understand how others view him or how others throw up when they see him.

Kind of like my feet. When I posted that picture of my foot on my last post, I was very grateful to some of you for giving me that objective viewpoint on just how ugly my feet are. You see, I have always known they were pretty unsightly, especially that really long and finger-like second toe, but you guys helped me to be even more honest with myself about it. For example, mamasweeds had this to say:

They say that if your "pointer toe" is longer than your big toe it means you're sexy. I have to say I have never seen a pointer toe tower over a big toe like that in all the feet that I've ever seen - in person or on the internet. Just sayin'.

Then Tara said:

No offense, but your feet are about as ugly as runners should be proud!

Thanks for keeping it real ladies!!!

Did you all remember I am running the Hood to Coast Relay in 11 days? So I found out what my legs are:

Leg 7: 5.65 miles - rated HARD. Rolling hills on paved shoulder and country roads

Leg 19: 5.89 miles - rated VERY HARD. Challenging up and down hills on paved back country road. No cell phone coverage (dammit, I wanted to phone a friend. Or poll the audience. Someone rescue me).

Leg 31: 4.00 miles - rated MODERATE. Gradual hills on narrow paved back country roads.

Total mileage: 15.54 miles

Our team starts at 6:30 p.m. Since there are six legs and almost 36 miles to be run before mine, I am guessing I will start running at about 10:30 p.m. if my team mates are as fast as they claim they are. I think it is good to start running in the pitch dark on back country roads that are unfamiliar to me. I am feeling more and more secure just thinking about it. I might go naked (except for my headlamp) and spray paint myself a nice reflective orange color just to stand out.

Want to know something cool? Our team is sponsored by Puma. Puma is giving us our running outfits, tech shirts and new running shoes (to be worn at a later date). I figure this is the closest I will ever come to any sort of sponsorship so I am milking and it. And I do think I'm cool. Did I tell you I am a Puma-sponsored athlete?

One side note and a potential cause for my disqualification in the race. This is what it says in the Hood to Coast handbook:

It is totally unacceptable to litter, urinate or defecate on private property along the course.

Those of you who are regular readers of my blog (all three of you) know that the defecate part of this might be a problem for me. Although, it says you can't poop on private property, like in a 7-11 parking lot, it says nothing about public property, like a country road or something. So I'll probably be okay. Plus, defecting in one's pants is still allowed, right? Your own pants may be private property, but it is your own private property so that's allowed I'm pretty sure.

Anyway done a relay before? Any words of wisdom for this relay virgin?

PS: Check out this giveaway at Cross Country Squared@

Friday, August 14, 2009

A Very Special Giveaway. Like Nothing You've Seen.

I know you all thought I was a drama queen about my toe trauma from my race last weekend. Don't even say you haven't been thinking about my toe, and that you skimmed over that paragraph in my race report because the report was too long to begin with and you read ten million blogs and it was enough info already.

I'm hear to tell you that that damn toe has given me issues since Saturday. It even took me to the doctor. I usually don't go to the doctor unless it's girl time - "scootch to the end of the table, this is going to feel a little bit cold, here is some pressure," and all that (ugh and when did they start doing that rectal exam? That was quite a surprise at my last physical). But my toe was throbbing and worst of all I couldn't run. After two days of no running I was ugly to be around and I contemplated a new habit that would not wreak havoc with my feet, legs, glutes, hams, toenails - like meth or crack. Neither of which is good for family life.

So - to the doc I went (BTW, this is where the giveaway comes in so hang in there). She looked at me sideways,"You idiot you came here for that? I have people with raging STDs, people with the swine flu, people with ingrown hairs and you come to me with a bruised big toe? Well, waahh waahh," she said as she pretended to play a violin. Well, she wasn't really that harsh, but you know that's what she was thinking. What she really said was, "It's not infected. Run if you want. You're going to lose that nail. It could take six months or you could soak it and it will fall off more quickly."
I'm going to soak the crap out of that baby. That's right, and...wait for it...I am going to give away my toenail to one lucky reader. All you have to do is to leave a comment about what you would do with my toenail if you got it. Some of you might want it for a special locket, others might want to add it to their Superbowl crock pot of chili. As a bonus, I will even paint it the OPI color of your choice: Cha-ching Cherry, Tangerini Bikini or Pink-ing of You. It's up to you, but the most creative comment wins.

Here's a confession: I am a giveaway wannabe. I don't know where you guys get all this cool schwag you give away. I have nothing to offer. Nothing. So I give you the toenail.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Race Report - You Know You've Been Waiting

Here's what I was thinking as we pulled into the dark parking lot in the small mountain town of Idaho Springs, CO (elev. 7,500 ft.) at 5:15 a.m. on Saturday: really, whose idea was this anyway and why does anyone agree to it? Getting up at pre crack-ass dawn, freezing your butt off, waiting around to run a long f'n way, and paying to do it. How did these race organizers get so many people on board for this nonsense? Why am I on board for this nonsense? Someone should be paying me. But I think that's called sponsorship and I'm a long way off from that. Like not-in-this-lifetime off from that. I thought: the shirt at the end better be pretty awesome (which by the way it wasn't - a cotton tee with a picture that I think my eight year old drew of a gold miner with a pick axe and a mountain goat in the background - I might donate it to the local pre-school to use as a smock).

Being a point to point course, there were school buses to take the 2,700 runners up the hill (mountain) to Georgetown (elev. 8,500 ft.). At least they weren't short buses and they had heat. The seats, however, were not heated (what's wrong with these school districts) and my little ass froze the second it hit the seat. No, I wasn't naked, just in shorts that rode up a bit. We got dropped on a dirt road in Georgetown. I thought about hiding in the back of the bus and taking another round trip just so I wouldn't have to hang out in the dark and the cold. Then I heard the bus driver say she was going home to have donuts and to go back to bed (why do non-runners like to say shit like that: "Oh have fun running 95 miles, I'm just going to grab a smoke, some Jim Beam and lay in the hammock touching myself while you do that). I didn't really want to go back to her house with her, so I begrudgingly left the comfort of the bus.

I saw those porta potties lined up and thought they might be an option for warmth. Hmmm...which is worse, near frostbite or the smell of many runner's pre-race crap? After waiting in line behind two chatty women for awhile, they let me know that they weren't in line. I'm all who hangs out by the porta potties shooting the shit and doesn't tell someone who stands behind them obviously waiting to get into a porta potty that they aren't in line. But I digress. Finally this dude emerges from the P.P. and I know he's gone number two because he's been in there forever. The only saving grace was the seat was so warm from his ass and it felt good compared to the bus seat.

Okay at this rate I'll be writing this story deep into the night, so let me speed up. We wait...blah blah blah...and wait...choosing to stand with hundreds of other people inside this little open air shelter thing. I sat crouched on the floor with my knees buckled up inside my shirt (you know how you used to do when you were little and wanted to look like you had big boobs). The dude next to me was actually shivering, teeth chattering and all. I felt sorry for him and almost offered to blow warm air all over him or to warm up the porta potty seat, but I'm just not that selfless.

Finally - it's 8:00 a.m. and we're lining up with a mass of people. Ken and I are strategizing how to stay together but we know we won't so we both have our ear buds ready to go. I see some guy I recognize and realize he is someone I have just done an adoption home study on (in my other life I am a social worker who writes home studies on people who want to adopt and do foster care through social services). Then I see he is with his partner who has a newborn in a front pack and I realize that they have adopted a baby and this makes me really jazzed because I have been sorta instrumental in helping to create this new family...see I do have a sweet, serious side.

And we're off. We did a two mile loop around Georgetown, then started heading down. The best moment of the morning was as we started running into the sun and I was finally warm. Miles go by and there is downhill, uphill, downhill, uphill more downhill. My Garmin is staying I'm flying by with sub-eight minute miles. I am psyched because I'm thinking I'm going to beat my PR of 1:52. My music is loud, the sun is shining, there's Powerade and I'm feeling strong. I think there's a point in everyone's race where you think, "Damn I'm good. I feel so good. I could do an ultra marathon no problem. In the desert with no water. On the treadmill watching only Love Boat re-runs. Man, I'm going to win this thing." (okay, not really, but you know how you get to feeling so good you feel invincible)...

And then came mile eight. I don't know what happened. I ran out of steam. I lost momentum. I forced down a vanilla power bar gel with water and felt an almost immediate surge. I pushed on. My right toe started burning and I thought there must be a blister. I pushed on. My toe was killing me. That blister must be something else. Now my ass hurts and my hamstrings too. Seriously I'm ready to be done.

I crossed the finish line in 1:47. 17th out of 174 in my age group. Who says 42 year old moms who find homes for defenseless babies and who have small boobs and toilet problems are slow? And by the way, my Garmin said it was 13.2 miles. I'm just saying.

Mile 1: 8:22
Mile 2: 8:18
Mile 3: 7:58
Mile 4: 7:54
Mile 5: 8:23
Mile 6: 7:46
Mile 7: 7:56
Mile 8: 8:02
Mile 9: 8:24
Mile 10: 8:17
Mile 11: 8:02
Mile 12: 8:08
Mile 13: 8:24

Then we were done, and I found Ken (who is such a stud) and we ate yogurt and fruit and bagels. On the way home we had to make a pit stop at Ken's office in Boulder to launch a couple of steamers, if you know what I mean. I feel sorry for the cleaning people who were coming on Monday. They probably wondered what the heck had gone on over the weekend and if the bathrooms were invaded by some frat boys or something.
That sticker on the left says "Shut Up and Run," by the way. My daughter thinks it's cool I invented that and have my own bumper stickers, shirts, etc. I don't have the heart to tell her I just am a big copy cat.

We did some camping these past couple days. Guess what I'm doing here? Hint: not pretending to be a hunter hiding in the weeds. I LOVE this picture. Thanks Ken for catching me in the moment.

And here is proof that I don't live and breathe running only. I had an AWESOME 20 miler on the Peak to Peak Highway:

Oh, and I know you're wondering about the toe (or did you already forget about it?) Well, the toe hurts like a mother. All of that jamming on my big toe toenail and left it black and blue and swollen. The price you pay above the price you already paid to run these races!

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Two Most Excellent Outcomes

I am so tired right now I can barely sit up to type this. So a quick recap: day started at 3:45 a.m. Two excellent outcomes of this half marathon:
  • Got my PR (1:47 - 8.09 min/mile). Woot woot!! Did not expect that.

  • Did not mess my pants. Woot woot!! Did not expect that.

This is more than I ever could have hoped for. And congrats to Ken who did his first half and finished in 1:49. Stud.

We are camping at Camp Dick (where else would I camp?) for the next few days. Hope to have a full race report soon.

Friday, August 7, 2009

Grunting and Cussing

You guys crack me up with your Halloween costume stories. I love the really inappropriate ones the best. But that shouldn't surprise you.

Tomorrow is a race day. Half marathon. Race days stress me out. It's all that stupid anticipation. Either that or I am having PTSD from the last half marathon I ran where I crapped myself. Plus we have to leave our house at 4:30 am to get to Idaho Springs, CO in time to pick up our packets and to take the bus up to Georgetown, CO where the race begins. I haven't gotten up at 4:00 a.m. since giving birth. Tomorrow may much be like giving birth in terms of pain, grunting and cussing.

Georgetown, CO is 8,500 feet and supposed to be a toasty 45 degrees tomorrow a.m. This brings up the question of what to wear. My down coat and thermal underwear? Perhaps I could wear those, disappear in a phone booth half way, and emerge in my singlet and shorts?

Then I hear there is no sports drink on the course, just water. Shouldn't be a big deal right? I think I'll just bring a gel to eat half way and I should be good. See how tough we are out here in Colorado?

Any pre-race words of advice? Does anyone want to ask me how long a half marathon is or if I am going to win the race? Or you could just tell me to "Run Forest, Run."

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

The Fried Egg and the Doctor

Hello my fellow runners:

First off, no, I don't really drink my own urine. Just had to clear that up. I've never been so desperate or so far away from civilization to do such a thing. My imagination cannot even conjure up a time where I might have a pee flavored cocktail (although shaken and stirred with a blue cheese stuffed olive - hmmmm). The other thing that occurred to me is that if you are SO dehydrated that you would resort to this, then my guess is it's pretty likely you could not be able to pee at all. I'm just saying.

So, Jamoosh is talking about this half marathon he is running on Halloween in Florida. The big question is if he should wear a costume. I suggested he dress as a human condom, but he just thought I was ignorant of the weather conditions in Florida in October if I was willing to suggest such a thing. The truth is if the race was in Ontario or Minneapolis where the weather is cooler, I'm sure he would be all over the idea.

All of this costume talk got me to thinking about the many Halloweens I have experience in my life (42 to be exact) and the various costumes that have been involved. My mom was a sewer (someone who sews, not someone who smells bad and runs underneath a city). She sewed most of my clothes, including my prom dress which was sometimes a good thing and sometimes not. I remember once in fourth grade I went into the bathroom and undid the straps of the corduroy jumper she had made for me (not sure if these were "in" at the time, but jumpers were mom's specialty). I inadvertently peed all over the straps and had to return to class. My classmates kept talking about smelling pee, but I vehemently denied it was me. This ability to lie on the spot would come in handy later when I farted loudly during a final exam in college and never took my pencil off the paper.

But I digress. Back to mom being a sewer (duh, I think the word is seamstress). So she made most of my costumes. One year I was a die (my brother was the other part of the pair). That was the most awkward of costumes as you are stuck inside a box from Ed's liquor that has been painted terribly by you. You can't get within five feet of anyone else because of the damn box. Another year I was Jeanie from "I Dream of Jeanie". I had the perfect hair for that high pony tail and my mom made these cool sheer tights to wear. I'm pretty sure I didn't wear underwear because that's just how I rolled. Plus I think Major Nelson would have liked it.

Two costumes, however, make me cringe to remember. The first one is that I read some book, I think by Judy Blume, and got the idea to dress as a fried egg. "It will be simple," I told my mom. "I'll just use a white sheet and sew a yellow circle to the top. Everyone will know who I am." It was a total bust. Everyone and I mean everyone thought I was a ghost with a yellow head. I was heartbroken.

But the one that takes the cake is this: my mom used to work for Planned Parenthood. She was an RN and a counselor of sorts. She would talk women through their options and was on site to assist women medically if they made the choice to go through with the procedure. My mom is not in favor of abortion, but more of a women's right to choose. She worked at PP when I was about ten years old. She brought me some scrubs to wear for Halloween so I could be a doctor. I even had those cool slip on feetie things with the elastic. Unfortunately at the age of ten, I didn't really understand all of the controversy around abortion. I actually don't even think I knew exactly what it was. So I go around to all of these houses saying "Trick or treat. I'm an abortion doctor." Yeah, I can pretty much see you all cringing now. I cringe just thinking about it. If there was anything ever so un-politically correct, it was that. I didn't understand the weird looks I got or why some people refused to give my candy. I told my mom. Yikes, she was mortified. "You were SUPPOSED to be just a doctor. A general practitioner. Why couldn't you have just been a general practitioner???"

Now I'm sitting here writing this thinking you are all going to judge my mother. Not for making jumpers, but for being pro-choice and for working at PP. She is no heathen. This was her decision and one she felt was just at the time. It was also 30 years ago. But this blog is not about her and her choices...

Here's me today: a lampshade. Far cry from a fried egg but just about as exciting

So, what was your most mortifying Halloween costume? It can be past or recent. I know there are some doozies out there. Or you could talk about the time you did something really un-PC on accident.

***Ahh man, this is an after post addition - because Graze with Me, who went as Bill Cosby when she was ten years old, reminded me of another totally un-PC costume. 14 years ago I went as Nicole Simpson (full on with a pretend gash in my neck) and my husband went as OJ. Really poor taste.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Born to Drink Urine?

Sorry I haven't blogged in a few days. I had my toenails extracted so they won't be so bothersome during and after races. I also was purchasing a coffin to fill with ice water so when I do my next race I'll have something to lay down in when I get hot and tired. I ran out of water on my long run and decided to try this drinking your own urine thing to see if it really worked. Tasted like urine smells. Thank god I hadn't had asparagus. Then I went into the sauna and ran in place with a rope and tire attached to my waist for two hours just to see how it would feel to run in the desert. I then used the tire and twine to create some shoes. Now my coach can call me "old tire" instead of "Saucony." I wore Depends the whole way. A lifesaver.

Really, I just got done reading this book and living vicariously thru these super human bodies. These people are insane. But I am somehow drawn to the insanity. That special unique group called ultra marathoners.

I often wonder what will be next. You've got your Ironman and your ultras. Now being done on the hottest and coldest places on earth. Distances keep getting longer.

And me? I am happy with my measly marathon. 26.2 miles used to be a really long way to run, after all.

Last but not least, thanks to Tara at Colorado Runner for my "lovely" award. She was nice enough to say this about my blog: I couldn't imagine a week without your fart/boob shot humor. I love crude humor. What can I say...that's how I roll. I love crude humor too and I'm guessing whoever I don't scare away must be in agreement.