The Elusive "Running Update" Blog

I ran the Midnight Flight 1 Mile and then 5K last night. WHEW! What the eff was I thinking? Seriously. I need my "running" peeps to riddle me this: Are all runners insane? Why would anyone purposefully choose to punish themselves run? I suppose for me, the answer to that question is…that although I am achy and stiff, and not the fittest, most athletic, person out there, I do enjoy the feeling of completion/accomplishment when I am able to finish the whole thing without walking. Whatever the reason, I’m doing it and I suppose I’m crazy. And we all have our own reasons for running.

Big Daddy gave me one of the nicest, most genuine compliments he’s ever given me, when at the finish line of the 5K he told me, “I’ve never seen you put that must physical effort into anything since you had Max.” As in…CHILD BIRTH. I told him coyly, “Maybe there are lots of things you don’t know about me,” and smiled a playful smile. He replied, “That’s why we’re married, because we know each other so well, but me are still learning.” Nice.

About the races…

The Midnight Flight is a night race comprised of 1 mile, 5K and 10K races. Some folks do one, some do all…I foolishly chose to do two…the 1 mile and the 5K. The mile started at 9:15 and the 5K at 10:00…that would give me a little less than 40ish minutes to “rest” in between races. Or in my case, it gave me exactly 37 minutes because I ran the FASTEST mile I have EVER run. And here’s why…

There were so many flippin’ kids at this event. Ok fine, let the kiddos run the 1 mile “fun run,” but let’s not forget it’s way past their bedtimes AND there ARE adults here trying to run, too. Two words…CASH PRIZE. Not that I was going to win it, but SOMEBODY was. Parents: if you are going to let your rug rats run the race, at least teach them etiquette…fast on the left, slow on the right…no zig zagging, bobbing and weaving, or sudden stops. Thanks. But that’s not why I ran like Forrest Gump when the bullies were chasing him and his braces fell apart. I ran because about a tenth of a mile into the “race,” the mom next to me dragging running with her 5 year old spoke loudly, “DO YOU NEED TO STOP?” The little girl didn’t reply. The mother again, “DO WE NEED TO STOP?” Again, nothing, but after a pause, “Momma, I think I’m gonna be sick,” the girl stopped, bent over and started coughing. We had MAYBE gone 10 yards past the starting line. Seeing that I have a phobia of vomiting (like a CLINICAL phobia complete with childhood visits to a psychologist…) I took off like I was being shot out of a cannon. It was pitiful. It was the opposite of a donkey being enticed to move forward by a carrot dangling from a stick held in front of its face. I ran, and I ran and I didn’t look back. In fact, I actually plugged my ears with my fingers and ran. And I was pissed off by the idiot mother who brought her child to a night run. Sure I have kids and yes, they would love a fun run, but at 9:20 PM, they were at home in bed with their grandmother. When I finished I couldn’t believe my time, but I also feared for my 5K…had I spent all my energy escaping the puke?

I had a little over a half hour to figure out if I was going to be “okay” to run. While Big Daddy and I walked around the vendor area, we picked up some schwag and ran into several people we knew. The Midnight Flight is a popular “town” event, so tons of us locals turn out. At the start of the 5K, I even saw M’s kindergarten teacher! After a pep-talk from Big Daddy (having him with me was a huge support!) I was ready to run again. It was a VERY crowded start, so I hung at the very back. It was a chip-timed event, so it didn’t matter if I was the first across the line or the last…I was only competing against myself…I needed to remember that!!!

Running at night is so strange, especially when you are running down the four lane main drag into town. There were tons of spectators, lots of city police blocking the side streets and several hot air balloons from the Balloon Festival on the ground “glowing” in support. SUPER surreal, and super motivating! I live in the coolest town!

I ran quite a ways with a girl whose Momma signed her up…the mom was running the 5K AND the 10K, and the girl was like 16 years old and kind of jogging/running like me. They had traveled from Inman, South Carolina in order to compete/participate and talking to her made the run go by so much faster. She was slowing down and I was speeding up, so we went our separate ways, but it was still nice to have a “friend” to run with.

About a ½ mile from the finish line, I heard someone coming up behind me panting and chanting, “I’m almost there, I’m almost there, I’m almost there…” I expected to see a 10 year old, immaturely verbalizing their motivation to continue…but when the person was by my side, I was shocked to see a 16 or 17 year old girl, dressed head to toe in red…red shirt…red shorts, red socks…and long, brown pony-tail…just a-strugglin’ and a-huffin’ and a-puffin’. The “scene” she was making of herself went as follows…she would SPRINT a few yards doing her “I’m almost there, I’m almost there…” thing and then she would stop, gulp and gasp to catch her breath, walk a bit and then repeat the sprinting and chanting. It reminded me, in an unfunny way, of Ace Ventura Pet Detective discovering the shark in the tank at the party was “not Snowflake! It’s not Snowflake, It’s not Snowflake…” After several times, I realized that she was pacing herself with me. I sped up and immediately she started sprinting to catch up. When she did, she would stop, walked and try to regain herself. As I pushed on, she would sprint yet again…all the while jerkin’ and buckin’ sayin’ to herself, “I’m almost there, almost there, almost there.” She was so DEmotivational, that I was just about to tell her to “SHUT THE FUCK UP! CAN’T YOU SEE THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE TRYING TO FINISH, TOO?!” But instead I summoned the strength to BURST forth at a pace I knew she couldn’t replicate, and I lost her somewhere between El Patron and the Sweetery. You locals know where I’m talkin’ about. She had me at Jakes on 81, but I had lost her by the Hair Cottage.

The boost was just enough to get me into a steady stride for the finish…and it was SWEET! Not my best time, but I finished without walking. That was my one and only goal and I accomplished it!

Next race…Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure!

I Bought the "Unique Pot-Clip" Because...

I was at Publix today and I bought this because I thought it was something else:

I was kind of embarrassed when the cashier rang it up because I was sure he was giving me "the eye," like, "I know what yer gettin' into when you get home, Ma'am!" Maybe I'm just paranoid. The product name just seems so obvious. Like, they may as well call the thing, "roll it up, lick it, stick it in here and smoke it." I mean, when I was in High School, we were a little more subtle. We called them "Roach Clips."

Geez. Folks are just getting more and more brazen, these days.

Oh wait! It's what? You mean it's not a...? It's for...? Holding a huh? Oh. It's for resting a spoon or ladle so it doesn't fall in while you cook. Yeah, yeah, that's what I thought, too.

humor-blogs

Better Late than...

Oh Me, Oh My...My previous blog is SO old, I probably AM a cougar, by now. 1000 "I'm Sorrys" for my blog-neglect. I have no one to blame but...the first week of school (two kids, two schools, FOUR separate drop-off and pick up times...M starts riding the bus this week, and I begin my "carpool," but still...kind of makes me question our 'we'll have two kids OR four kids' baby-making policy...what were we thinking? Two is PLENTY! I like Becky's mom's philosophy...there are two Twinkies in a package...and well, I'm just not that great at multitasking. MANY kudos to those who are! Anyway, so I've been SUPER busy with my two little Twinkies, obviously) various activities have me in my car more often than seems proper (such is the sacrifice of the stay-at-home-mom...) and subsequently I've found myself obscenely FATIGUED. Like, unusually fatigued. Like, please pass me my anti-insanity pills fatigued. Bless my bones.

In fact, last week I had to take to my bed no later than FOUR PM. I'm not sure if it was stress from the first week of school or relief that (as per usual, the kids exceeded my wildest expectations) the kiddos did so well...Tina informed me that, on Friday, I was NOT to take to my bed and that if I did she would (and I quote) "horse whip" me. Well, of course, that made taking to my bed COMPLETELY out of the question. So I woke up Saturday, ran a 5K and decided to *try* to summon the strength to persevere. And I did.

I promise...I will write a have a new post soon chalk full of all the effed up stuff that happens here at the Edge of the Map...Until then, Please to enjoy the five seconds of normalcy and contentment we are experiencing amid the chaos. It doesn't happen very often. So while we wait, I will, once again, take to my bed.

I Really Had, Seriously Been Feeling Old Until...

Tina and I LOVE to “be honest,” which means we love to “talk shit.”

Observe…

“…She thinks she’s frickin’ JANE Cleaver!” said Tina, with a clear-cut case of alcohol mouth.

“You mean JUNE Cleaver?” I corrected...smiling, and enjoying the cuteness that is “The Tina.”

Just then, Tina’s son piped in…It was clear he thought we were assigning character names to each other, rather than poking fun at a chick we know whose sewing machine bravado has her flexing her “mommy muscles” like a matronly Clint Eastwood…

“Do you crochet? Well, do you, punk?”

“And, YOU'RE Ashley Tisdale!” He spoke...

“What?!” I asked, sure of what he had said, but wanting confirmation that my almost daily workout sessions and hair-bleach had paid off… “Who did you say?”

“I SAID, AND YOU ARE Ashley Tisdale!!!” my 9-year-old Joe Jonas look-a-like neighbor repeated…unsure of whether his observation would be met with approval or punishment.

“YESSS!” I applauded, assuming the pose of a NFL footballer in the end zone.

Upon further query, I had heard him correctly.

For while listening to his Momma and his Momma’s neighbor discuss what TV character/Movie personality their “friends” most closely resembled, Tina’s son CORRECTLY (heh, heh) assigned ME the part of…Ashley Tisdale. Oh, the innocence of youth…OH, how I took the “complement,” and RAN WITH IT, recapturing my youth!

23 year old, perky, adorable, talented, skinny and yet sexy…Ashely Tisdale.

I may be a 32 year old mother of two, but in my heart, I am still an ALLSTAR!

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Cities and States Turned into Sexual Euphemisms...OR..How I Spent My Summer Vacation...

We had a 3 ½ hour drive home from Folly Beach today.

We had such a HUMONGOUS blast at the beach, that we have decided to rent a house for a week next summer and do an all-out “surfer-style” vacation.

Mahalo!

As anyone who has ever made the trek home from holiday, however long or short, knows…making your way back home to your “real” life and your “real” daily grind can be a little bit of a bummer…especially when the vacay you are leaving behind ROCKED.

But rather than dread the impending first day of Kindergarten (when my boy becomes a man) and “Three’s” preschool (when my 40 year old 3 year old continues to rule the world…complete with crown and scepter…) I did what any self-respecting, totally immature, potty-mouthed hot Momma would do…I made punchy jokes the whole way home to lift our moods…

A short way into our drive home, we passed an Exit Sign for a town called “Pinopolis.” I read the sign, and then said the word silently in my head…to me, it sounded like this: PEEN-a-pol-is. Ha ha. I said “Peen.” As in PEENis.

IMMEDIATELY, I started in with the giggles…my brain reacting to the word “Pinopolis” like a 10 year old saying “douche” for the first time. So stupid…SO FUNNY!

“Hey Big Daddy, I wanna go to PEENapolis later tonight…heh…heh…” thinking I was SO clever…positive Big D took no notice of the sign…or at least, had more maturity in his big toe than I have in my entire person.

But, without skipping a beat, Big Daddy responded…

“Well, that’s great, because I was hoping to spend a couple-a-nights in Vir-gina.”

We think alike. That’s why we’re married.

Note how Pinopolis thrusts forth, erect; a peninsula of pleasure, if you will, angling just slightly to the right. Should I be their next Director of Tourism, or WHAT?

Humor From Vacation deserves a click HERE

No More Rubber Soul

When it came to the music my son, and then subsequently my daughter, listened to I did what any uber-hip music-loving Momma would do, I traded Barney
for the Beatles.
There is spare little in the Children’s Music genre that I can stomach, so I made it my mission to provide my little ones with the best, most age appropriate music I could find whether it was originally intended for the delicate ears of babes or not. My Sister-In-Law (Font Fonder) has become an EXPERT on finding amazing, non-annoying kids music. One of her pics is their current “go to sleep” music. AND the bonus track is by my current favorite artist Brandi Carlile. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, like Elizabeth Mitchell is a folk singer who has several fantastic kid’s albums. On several songs, she collaborates with Lisa Loeb, a fav of mine growing up, which results in a pleasant musical experience for the kids and I, alike. They Might Be Giants also has several Children’s albums, however, their “rock” stuff (again, from my High School Listening Catalog) suits kids and adults, alike. I can even tolerate Laurie Berkner because she has me fooled into believing she is a FOLK singer, not a CHILDREN’S artist. Then there’s the REAL Kid’s Music…Although I grew listening to him, myself, there is only so much Raffi I can take. Like, one or two songs. And (sorry fans-you know who you are…ha…ha…I expect hate mail…) a little part of me dies inside when I hear anything by the Imagination Movers. They make me want to poke myself in the eye with the closest sharp object. It doesn’t really make sense, then, that I THANK JESUS each and every time I see DJ Lance and the rest of the Yo Gabba Gabba gang.

So much of my current life has been influenced by “Jumpy jumpy jump jump.”

That all being said…

We had a strange morning…we were jolted out of a dead sleep at 7:15 by V screaming (SCREAMING) on the stair case landing…it seems she had a nightmare about a snake (let’s revisit this, shall we?)

Big Daddy sprung out of bed and was carrying her down the stairs within seconds, and nestled her sweetly next to me, so I could cuddle her close and wipe her tears away.

Enter Big Brother M…who out of concern for his sister, was singing a song to calm her down and comfort her.

“You better run for your life if you can, little girl
Hide your head in the sand little girl
Catch you with another man little girl
That's the end'a little girl”

SHOCKED, and going over every “children’s” song and television show and video in my head thinking where in the HELL did he hear those lyrics…I asked M…

“Um…where did you hear that?!”

“It’s number 14 on my radio.”

GULP. Oh Dear God, No. There is just no undoing that.

I had, once again, underestimated the extent of M’s preternaturally insanely thorough memory…I’m not sure which was more surprising…that he knew the lyrics, or that he knew which number it was. I was reminded of a time we were driving in the van and M requested “Disc 4, Song 5” because it was his favorite. I didn’t believe him, so I made him sing a little bit of the song (James River Blues by Old Crow Medicine Show) and sure enough, he nailed it. The boy does like music!

So “number 14” turns out to be “Run For Your Life” by the Beatles, off the album “Rubber Soul.” A TOTALLY inappropriate song, but therein lies my mistake...the rest of the album is awesome...mellow and soothing. What starts off with the lyrics “Beep Beep, Beep Beep YEAH!” nonsense about driving a car, and then the comforting “Norweigian Wood” and later on…my all time favorite Beatles song, “In My Life,” ends with a song about, essentially, a misogynistic threat of offing an unfaithful girlfriend. What can I say, other than OOPS!

“CATCH YOU WITH ANOTHER MAN?” Big Daddy repeated of the lyrics M sang, so as to help his little sis get over her nightmare. And with that, we busted out laughing…

After a big, hearty guffaw at our FIERCE and FABULOUS parenting skills, Big Daddy announced that “Rubber Soul” will removed from “the rotation.” But that’s ok, there’s this song, “Angel of the Morning” by Juice Newton I think the kids would REALLY love…I wonder what it’s about?

MOTHER OF THE YEAR…FIVE YEARS RUNNING!!!

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Open Letter to the "Handicapped" Lady at Ingles...A Rant Obviously Caused by PMS

An Open Letter the “Handicapped” Old Lady at Ingles…*

Dear Ma’am,

I watched you park in a parking spot marked “Handicapped” at Ingles today. You had your driver’s side window down and you were puffing away on the lit cigarette that you held with your left hand, while parking your car, with your right hand (single-handedly!) I watched as you hopped out of your car like a rabbit, a spry skip in your step like a cheerleader hustling to hit her mark. Handicapped? Are you sure? You sure looked “Handi-capable!” Good for you…you show that little “Handicapped” sign you have hanging from your rear-view mirror who’s boss, because you sure fooled me…and apparently you fooled your doctor and the Department of Motor Vehicles, too. Or even better still…maybe you were driving your husband’s car (who may very well BE handicapped) and you just felt like cashing in on his misfortune so you could park a few feet closer to the store.) I just think that anyone who is voluntarily inhaling burning carcinogens into their lungs and then practically jogging into the grocery store hardly qualifies as any form of “disabled.”

Oh, I’m not being very nice, am I? I’m just being ugly. I should try to be more understanding, I know…let me put myself in your shoes, and then you can wear mine…a kind of updated version of the Aykroyd/Murphy movie “Trading Places.”

Ok, I’ll sit on my ass in your car smoking a cig, and you can go shopping with my 3 and 5 year olds…First you can go to Target. When you get inside, both kids will immediately run in two different directions. Grab them, and make sure you scold them, reminding them that you are in a store and they need to behave. Just as you are getting your grocery cart, the 3 year old will announce that, although she went to the bathroom 15 minutes ago at home, she now needs to “tinkle…AND pup.” Find the bathroom (does Target even have a bathroom you wonder? Oh…but I know the answer is “yes,” EVERY TIME I GO THERE) and bring both kids in. The boy will be kicking and screaming in protest since he has to go to the “Ladies” room. Remind both kids not to touch anything. Sit the 3 year old on the potty, hold the 5 year old’s hands…all in the privacy of the REGULAR sized stall, since we do not qualify as “Handicapped” and would hate to take that space up for someone who could actually utilize it. Turn red and sweat a little bit as the girl pushes out a turd while grunting, “HERE IT COMES!” Wipe 3 year old’s bottom, flush toilet with your foot, wash everyone’s hands. Start shopping. Try to avoid the “Toy” department at all costs, even though you will inevitably end up there due to begging and pleading from said children. Attempt to try on a pair of shoes. Try to find the 3 year old who is “hiding” while you shop for shoes. Yell at 5 year old to get off the dirty floor. Take kids into dressing room to try on fitness gear. Giggle when the boy announces “Momma, you look like a BALLERINA in that dress!” and then ask the girl to “shhh” when she says, “Momma, I can sthee your BOOBIESTH!”

End up with nothing since both kids start squirming and 5 year old has poked himself in the eye with a hanger. Remember…you are doing all of this in the REGULAR sized dressing room so as not to inconvenience healthy, normal old ladies smoking cigarettes the Handicapped. Leave Target with no less than $50 worth of “impulse retail therapy” merchandise…toys, DVD’s and of course, cute notebooks…none of which you originally intended to purchase. Try to devise a plan to break this news to your spouse, give up, change into slutty clothes and hope you can comfort your husband’s pain over the receipt with your Va-Jay-Jay.

Realize you are missing a few ingredients for dinner, pack two complaining kids back into the car. Arrive at Ingles. Struggle to get both kids out of the van, keeping everyone safe in the parking lot and holding hands with each other. Pick up the crying 3 year old with your left arm (who has just stubbed her toe), while still maintaining your hold on the 5 year old.

Then look over…and see me…cruising in like a summer breeze, smokin’ my cancer-stick, parking in the closest spot to the store, grey-hair billowing in the wind like smoke, hopping out of my vehicle and getting into the store before you. I mean, cop a limp or something, at the very least!

And hey, Super Fat Guy in the Jazzy Scooter…I’m coming after you, next. Since when does a lack of total self control qualify as “Handicapped” I ask you?! For God’s sake, if my pregnant friend can run a marathon certainly you can put down your fork. Whatevs. I’m just sayin’…

Sincerely,

Brownie

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