Friday Funny

Even Santa suffers from periodic vehicular issues…..

FF Santa Humor1

 

Enjoy the ride.

Have you completed your gift shopping or will you be cursing your way through the nearest mall this weekend?  Might I suggest a nice bottle of Cabernet prior to joining the bargain-bound masses?  You just may be surprised how much nicer your shopping experience can be!  Happy weekend everyone!

Christmaspalooza

And don’t forget!  Today’s the last day to get your entries in for the Black Dog Runs Disney Christmaspalooza contest!  Wonder Mutt is warming up her licker already!  Email your entry to b;lackdogrunsdisney@gmail.com today!

Progress. I Think.

Ten months in the gym and I haven’t smacked anyone yet.  Now that’s what I call progress!Gym Bitch

Okay well, there IS that.  But other than annoying non-weight rackers, the weird-distracting-arm-circles-while-on-the-bike-guy, stinky chic, and the insufferable WHY CAN’T YOU JUST WIPE OFF THE FREAKIN’ MACHINE WHEN YOU’RE DONE SWEATING ALL OVER KINGDOM COME people, my return to gymdom has actually been pretty enjoyable.  Now that’s not to say I haven’t had some downer moments, especially lately, but I’m doing my best to keep a good attitude.  After all, at least I still CAN work out.  Just like this guy.

funny-puppy-gym-weights

Yes, fuzzy butt. I do.

Ever notice how much time you spend bending your knees, especially when you can’t?  Per doctor’s orders, no bending the patellas more than 90 degrees, and especially, no more than 30 degrees when doing leg extensions.  Talk about actually having to pay attention to what you’re doing.  And if you know me at all, then you know my attention span doesn’t exactly fall in the spectacular department.  But as long as I can still work up a sweat and feel like I’m accomplishing SOMETHING, then I’m happy with that.  Accomplish that something without actually dropping a weight on an irritating, self-absorbed gym rat? Now that’s what I call a WIN.

Victory-is-mine-294x300

And really.  Who can be irritated when after more than FOUR YEARS, the hubby has been able to consistently run WITHOUT FOOT PAIN?  Yes, that’s right, NO FOOT PAIN.  Let me say it again in case you didn’t get it the first ten times – NO FOOT PAIN!  Seriously peoples, you have no idea how big a marvelous, stupendous, spectacular deal that is.  Even the achy legs he has after running outside yesterday is worth every bit of lactic acid buildup.  (Between you and me, I think it may have had something to do with the fancy new shoes he got on sale at Shoebuy for $75.)

Ed's Brooks

Ooooooooh, pretty.

Did I mention I spent half an hour on the phone the other day with The Man’s nurse?  Let me tell ya, that woman is a plethora of all things knee knowledge.  She spent all that time explaining to me why we’re traversing the road of conservatism with my knees.  In a nutshell, I need to alleviate the inflammation.  Then – and stick with me here a minute – I need to actually INFLAME them all over again, but at a more “manageable” level.  Remember I told you the back of my patellas were all chewed up and ripping up the cartilage behind them?  Well, I actually need to let them do that.  Why in the name of all that is ibuprofen, do you need to DO that Black Dog, you may ask?  Because.  If I let my body “plane out” the cartilage/patella naturally – instead of surgically – then it will do that to the specific angles that it needs, whereas a surgeon might not be able to do so.  Basically, surgery would be a best guess scenario versus Mother Nature knows what she’s doing kind of deal.

Yeah I got this.  And this lynx too.

Yeah I got this. And this lynx too.

Patience is called for in this scenario.  E-GADS.  I’m more of an immediate gratification kind of gal.  (That’s why I can almost get on board with Amazon Prime’s two-day shipping.  Almost.)  I need these knees to be fixed YESTERDAY.  Hear that, Mama of All Things Wise and Furry?  YES-TER-DAY.  I promise not to over-water the plants, under-water the flowers, or stomp out any bugs.  Except the roaches.  All bets are off with those nasty, nuclear-holocaust-surviving-creepers-of-ick.  Just get these suckers better.  Fast.  And feel free to take out a few of these ick monsters along the way.

Not a chance scumhead.

Not a chance scumhead.

So if patience is what I need to have, then patient I will be.  I almost sound like I mean that, don’t I?  In the meantime, please feel free to keep me distracted/entertained/pinned down and beaten until the parts have decided to forgive me for years of punishment.  After all, what does one do once one has healed but start the beat-down all over again?  Hmmm, sounds curiously like the definition of runner…

 

Enjoy the ride.

Ever find being patient more difficult than long runs or speed work?  Are you a killer of all things green?  When is the last time you felt the urge to throw a dumb bell at someone?

Getting My Zen On

I’m embarrassed to admit I have NO idea the last time I paid a visit to my little friend.

Hello my friend.

Hello little friend.

Carving out the time to – dare I say it? – actively RELAX – just wasn’t on my calendar.  However, now that I have all this free time on my legs, with constant urging from Sandee The World’s Greatest Yoga Instructor

The not so furry one.

The not so furry one.  No, the other one.

…and the fact that the hubby was kind of enough to offer to pay for my classes, I suddenly found myself walking back into my long lost place of all things zenlike.  It was like coming home again.  Except with a ceramic elephant.  And shoes all over the place.  And bare feet everywhere.  Gross.

Having not participated in what the hubs likes to call bendy-bend, I had no idea how absolutely comedic this was going to turn out.  Comedic simply because I have an issue with gravity.  Or maybe better put, it has an issue with me.  Actually, I think it loves me.  A LOT.  Too much methinks.

Yup.  That's me.

Yup. That’s me.

Gravitational issues aside, I rolled out my mat, grabbed a cushion for my busted up knees, and hoped for the best.  Sandee thankfully took into account said busted patellas, and kept the class as knee-friendly as possible.  After the first few minutes of ujjayi breathing, cat/cows, forward bends, and chattyRhonda thingies (NOT how that’s spelled), it all started to come back to me.  I could literally feel my blood pressure dropping and the stress melting out of my overloaded amygdala.  (Not really but it sounded pretty cool, didn’t it?)

amygdalaAfter completely losing track of time – which I think is what’s SUPPOSED to happen in yoga class, isn’t it?- it was time for good ol’ savasana.  Ohhhhh savasana, how do I love thee?  Let me count the zzz’s.

Zzzzz, zzzzz,zzzzz

Zzzzz, zzzzz,zzzzz

You really do appreciate how much you miss doing something when you’ve been away from it, and this was no different.  I may be out of the running game for a while, but with a little bit of patience, a LOT of balance practice, and Sandee putting up with me making up some pretty funny poses of my own, I think my time spent on the mat will be well worth it.  Who knows?  Maybe all this warm and fuzzy zen-ness will even turn me into a more patient patient.  Doubt it.  But you never know.  Namaste.

Patience

 

 

Enjoy the ride.

Do you find yoga makes you feel better about yourself?  Has it improved your running?  Have you ever fallen asleep in yoga class?  And started to snore?

What Are You Thankful For?

Ever gather the family together around the table on Thanksgiving, and one by one, say what you were thankful for?  Yeah, me neither.  I think.  I don’t actually remember.  However, I DO remember our meals looking quite similar to this…

food fight

Okay, maybe not QUITE that messy, but you get the general idea.  A houseful of extended family always led to arguments about politics, interrogations of new love interests, and whether or not the Red Sox would go all the way next season.  It was loud, crazy, dysfunctional, and I loved every minute of it.  Except when I got stuck on dish duty.  And I ALWAYS got stuck on dish duty.

These days it’s about spending the day with our besties, watching football, and taking bets on whose mutt is going to win the latest episode of Puppy Smackdown.  It’s quiet, mostly calm, relaxing, and I love every minute of it.  But every so often, I think back to those Thanksgiving Days of noise and chaos, and my heart aches just a little bit.  It’s okay to feel a little nostalgic for the past every so often isn’t it?

nostalgia-300x190

This time of year is always tough for me.  I never feel the loss of my dad more strongly than between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  And my poor hubby makes himself crazy trying to keep me from feeling too sad.  It’s gotten better over the years, and I know my Pops would be seriously pissed if he knew I was wasting time getting all weepy-faced.  So I wallow in self-pity for a minute and a half, and succumb to the bizarre, freakish, disjointed movements that the hubby considers his best dance moves, all in an effort to cheer me up.  Relax baby, works every time.

You rock baby!

Rock those moves baby!

So along with being blessed with amazing friends (you know who you are ladies and gentlemen), an even more amazing husband, a caring yoga instructor, the ability to move and bend and breathe, a job that pays for me to travel the world or just a few hours away to Disney, the ability to run – at least again some day soon – and the world’s greatest Wonder Mutt, I have plenty to be thankful for.  And I try to remember that every time I get annoyed with the stinky lady at the gym, aggravated at the amazing selfishness of some of the people I work with, or the fact that my Giants keep stinkin’ up the joint.

Bad. Ass.

Can we PLEASE get our act together guys???

Now I’m going to throw this challenge out into the Bloggerverse – I challenge you to think of three things you are most thankful for.  Keep them close in mind.  And the next time you end up next to the stinky person at the gym, recite them to yourself.  At least until said stinkybutt moves away from you.  Then you can add that to your list of things to be grateful for as well.

thankful1

 

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving everyone!

 

Enjoy the ride.

Let’s get this party started!  Let’s hear what you’re most thankful for.  Ready?  Tag, you’re it!!

What Do You Do When You Don’t Play Well With Others?

A question I ask myself often.

This is me.

child-play2

Well, not me EXACTLY, but you get the idea.  It’s not that I don’t play well with others, it’s just that I don’t…well…DO well with others.  I just don’t GET people.  Remember this?  Innate shyness and socially challenged is definitely part of my genetic makeup.  From where, I’m not really sure, as the rest of my siblings are pretty good at the whole blahblahblah thing.  I bring this up now for a couple of reasons.

I’m currently following the adventures of Stephanie as she gets ready to take on Part Two of her #marathonpalooza madness.  As she globe-trots from Orlando to Chicago to Orlando to Quantico to Orlando to NYC, back to Orlando for the Wine and Dine, and finally closing out the year with the Space Coast Marathon, I wonder first, how the HELL is she going to survive the insanity, and second, how would I handle going all those places and NOT KNOWING NARY A SOUL.  I can tell you.

Now where's my blankie?

Now where’s my blankie?

The second reason this popped out of my game show dollar machine brain is this: my torture master massage therapist Janet was telling me about this running group she ran into (pun intended) purely by accident a few weeks ago.  Hash House Harriers, an international running group, seems to have made its way to my area.  “Drinkers with a running problem” is their tagline, (how could you not love that?), and a group I could possible relate to.  Except for one little bitty problem.  GROUP.  E-GADS, how I hate that word.

scared Jerry

Aaaagggghhhhh!!!!

Now let there be no mistake.  I’ll talk to just about anyone after a little liquid courage is involved, but that’s not always conducive at the starting line.  Or the finish line if you think about it.  As much as I try, I just don’t have that innate ability to strike up a conversation with another living, breathing human being.  Now put a pooch in my path, and I’ll yak to them all day long.  But put good ol’ homo sapiens in my path, and I put on my best clam imitation.

Who me?  Noooo, you couldn't be talking to ME?

Who me? Noooo, you couldn’t be talking to me!

I really don’t know what the point is that I’m trying to make, except to say, how the heck do you DO it?  How does one strike up a conversation with a perfect stranger and not have them look at you like you’re a complete idiot?  Okay, idiot factor aside here, I constantly wonder at people’s ability to do just that.  I have heard the most hilarious conversations started in of all places, the mile long lines for those god-awful porta-potties at the start of the Wine and Dine every year.  But if you think about it, what better place to hit it off with complete strangers than standing in line, trying not pee your drawers, and actually TALKING about it??  Some places just incite the no shame rule.

Yes, you actually can Google Portapotties at Disney races and get boatloads of pictures.  Disturbing to say the least.

Yes, you actually can Google Portapotties at Disney races and get boatloads of pictures. Disturbing to say the least.

So I guess the best advice I can give myself – and you – is next time we find ourselves flying solo at a race, just hang out in the bathroom lines.  Guess you’ll never know who you may run into.  Hey, Kara and Shalane have to go at some point, don’t they???

karaandshalane

Hi ladies!

 

Enjoy the ride.

Ever find yourself  holding back from joining a group because you’re just too shy?  Did you do anything about it?  Were you glad you did or did you feel like a total schmuck the entire time?

What Do YOU Consider Sexy?

I’m thinking this is National Week of Epiphanies.

In a vain attempt to catch up with 18 pages of blogs, I came across this one yesterday from Tina at A Marathon and A Sprint.  By the time I was done reading it, I felt like Jennifer Garner needed to run for President. (Make sure you go and check out the video Tina posted.  I’m too techno-challenged to figure out how to do it myself.)  As all good literary pieces should do, it stuck with me.  And as I was trucking my dupa home yesterday mid run – thank you very much Mr. Thunder and Lightning Storm – it made me wonder.  Why do we have such differing opinions on what constitutes physical beauty?

Audrey Hepburn

The hubs and I couldn’t be further apart on this subject.  He likes curves and “thickness”.  I always argue the point that if he ever called a woman thick, more likely than not it would result in a smack upside his head.  Some guys become total idiots in the mere presence of Victoria Secret model-like beauty, whereas the hubs thinks they’re all too skinny and doesn’t find them attractive at all.  Yet who’s fighting me for the catalog when it shows up in the mail or wants to watch the annual VS Fashion Show?  (They really ARE their own worst enemies.)  And do you really think certain NFL quarterbacks would have EVER landed their supermodel wives if they were just average, off the street Joe Schmoes?  Doubt it.

Yeaaahhhhh. Don't think so.

Yeaaahhhhh. Don’t think so.

Show this picture to any average guy and watch what happens.  And men wonder why women are so super self-conscious about their looks?!?

I have a friend that I’ve known since first grade.  This friend HATED going to gym class.  Now, she has numerous races, fitness, and body building competitions on her resume,  She now owns a gym and busts her butt to keep in shape.  This past weekend, she competed in a body building competition.  Just that fact that she’s 45 and looks the way she does is amazing to me.  She ended up not placing and posted on Facebook that she needed to get back to work and get bigger.  BIGGER.  She’s a GIRL.  Since when does the “ideal” look of a fit woman include entering freaky big status?   I’ve been around/worked in the fitness industry off and on for years.  I’ve seen what the demands of body building can do to a body, and it’s not always pretty.  The push to be bigger/stronger/more defined can sometimes end up with deadly results.  At the ripe old age of 20, a fellow gym member’s heart literally imploded while he was driving and he ended up crashing his car into a tree.  The drive to be bigger and stronger led him to mess with his diet.  And he was DIABETIC.  Was the vanity factor worth it?  I think I know what his parents, friends, and girlfriend would have said.

cemetary

What men and women consider attractive/sexy/beautiful is as varied as we are.  Skinny, curvy, thick, heavy, athletic, lean-muscled, big-muscled – there’s no lack of opinions as to what constitutes hot.  As humans, and very visual creatures, it’s hard to deny how much “good-looking” plays into our daily lives.  We’re constantly bombarded with pictures of thin, tall, leggy supermodels.  We see how men react when they see them.  And then they wonder why we’re constantly dieting, hitting the gym, running, counting calories, and always pushing to find that elusive size 0.  It’s no wonder when all we see and hear is “be thinner”, “look better”, “you TOO can be mistaken for a model!  Just take this pill! Only $39.95!”

I live in the land of high school girls getting plastic surgery so they can win the coveted prom queen title.  However, as we do spend more of our time wearing shorts and tank tops than the rest of the country, we also work hard at staying fit and eating right.  I can happily say that over the past 19 years I’ve lived here,  I’ve seen the attitudes change among many young women, and they are starting to take on a more active life.  For the most part, it’s no longer about who’s the thinnest, but who’s the fastest and the strongest.  Girls around here are looking less likes twigs and more like healthy, athletic women.  So perhaps attitudes are changing for the better.  Finally.

We kick dupa!

We kick dupa!

So the next time you find yourself having a bad body day, and feel like you’re never going to get any where, stop and take a moment.  Watch Jennifer Garner brag about her baby bump.  Look at the race PR you earned.  Check out the amazing types of people who show up at a runDisney event who cover every type of physical build and ability you can imagine.  Be thankful that your body can DO what you ask it to do, no matter what it looks like doing it.  Because I guarantee, there’s someone watching who thinks you look just like this.

You ARE hot.  You.  Yes YOU.

You ARE hot. You. Yes YOU!

 Enjoy the ride.

We’re all victims of bad body days.  How do you get past them?  Are you able to see how hot you really are?  What do you consider “attractive?”

Don’t You Wish Life Had A Rewind Button?

So in an effort to be proactive about finding out exactly what keeps causing this…

Oh.  It's YOU again...

Oh. It’s YOU again…

I decided to take myself off to the experts.  Seeing as I conveniently live within a reasonable distance of a major league football team, I figured why not avail myself of THEIR medical miracle workers?  BUT, of course, one must go to one’s own doctor first, because heaven forbid one just take oneself off to said experts without permission.  This lovely jump through the hoops excursion landed me in the exam room yesterday of a doctor I had never met.  An hour past my appointment time. After sharing the lobby with some germ-emanating woman who actually sneezed in her hand then used that same hand to write her name down on the sign in sheet.  E-GADS.

Say it isn't so!

Say it isn’t so!

Here’s where my aggravation factor multiplied exponentially.   I simply want to jump through the appropriate insurance company hoops to get a referral to see The MAN about my ITBS.  Next thing you know, I’m laid out on the table for an EKG (normal), and given forms to go get my blood supply sucked dry.  (Actually, more like just getting my iron level checked, but it sounds so much more dramatic when there’s a vampire connotation involved, doesn’t it?) Then, as if I wasn’t already aggravated enough, I have to explain to THEM (as in the office staff – you know the ones who deal with the insurance hoops EVERY DAY), what THEY need to do with the insurance company so I can go see The MAN.  Me.  The PATIENT.  Am I the only one seeing the horrible dark comedy of errors in this whole situation???

Be afwaid Black Dog. Be vewy, vewy afwaid.

Be afwaid Black Dog. Be vewy, vewy afwaid.

So instead of actually having a productive day, I will be spending it on the phone arguing with my, playing intermediary between my doctor’s office and insurance company, all in an effort, to – here’s a novel idea – TAKE CARE OF MYSELF.

So let me take this moment to apologize dear readers, for the momentary lapse in sanity and rant against all things medical.  Hopefully though, the light at the end of the tunnel will be that I DO actually end up getting to see The MAN, who will then proceed to tell me in the first five minutes of my visit that he knows exactly what is wrong with these blasted IT bands, and can fix them in 20 minutes or less.  Or even 30.  I’ll take 30.  Maybe there will even be some hot, retired football player waiting in the lobby when I get there.  Nothing wrong with a little bit of eye candy to brighten up the wait.

How you doin'?

How you doin’?

Enjoy the ride.

Do the hoops you have to jump through for insurance companies make you absolutely insane?  Have you ever just wanted to scream unintelligible curses at your doctor? Have you actually done it?  Did it get you anywhere?