Carpetbagging It…

I just spent 5 minutes trying to pick up a huge spider!!!!!!  Except every time I’d get my armoured car of Kleenex material down to pick it up, I’d think I’d picked it up but then when I stood up it would still be there staring at me from the carpet, all black and huge-mongous… the size of my head.  I kept picking at it for a good 5 minutes… and then I put my glasses on and realized I was picking at the shadow of a frayed piece of carpet.  Not only do I have horrible eyesight glasses-less, I’m also a hallucinating methamphetamine patient.  Stupid shadows of invisible spiders.  All that girly squealing was unnecessary… sorry neighbors.   Meanwhile… is anybody else experiencing a deluge of nasty black beetles in their house this year?  Just me?  Because I swear I pick up a good 20 beetles PER DAY… and it’s getting to the point where I think I should collect them and drop them in a chocolate fondue pot and then sell them to the nature survivalists as a dessert-y protein crunch.  I’d have my own dagnabbed side buisness.   So gross!!

This afternoon, I decided to drive around and pick a random country road and annoy the neighbors by walking down it.  I do that every so often to get some new scenery.  This one I’d walked down in the past, a couple of years ago, so I knew that it was a very narrow, windy road that eventually turned into a dirt road on the edge of civilization.  I parked Beulah the Bird-Turded Buick in some overgrown weeds on the side of the road next to a dead muskrat who smelled something fierce (Secret… strong enough for a muskrat, pH balanced for a gopher) and then I began walking down the road.  I was wearing my purse because it had my phone in it, just in case I got accosted by the relatives of said dead muskrat.  So, I probably looked really out of place walking down this road and though I thought it would be a relatively quiet, car-less road, there were quite a few cars who drove down the road whilst I was walking it, each would slow down to pass me (the road was very very narrow) and also probably to wonder what the heck I was doing walking down their road!

One car in particular slowed wayyyy down to pass me… it was eery like whomever was in the car was going to arrest me for invasion of alien lands, so I kept my head down and kept on walking.  The car eventually passed me by, and I went on my merry way.  About 5 minutes later, that same car came driving back, this time towards me, and I got all nervous again because it slowed down and the lady in the car was gawking at me like I was a cow-tipping suspect.  But you durn near got you a chocolate milkshake, Merle!  She passed me slowly, brought her car to a complete stop, backed the car up, and rolled her window down.  At this point I’m thinking my dream to be on 48 Hours: Mystery may come true, except as the dead person instead of the talking alive person.   I stopped walking at this point… DUHHHHH… RUN FOR THE HILLS… and walked over to her window as she was motioning for me to come over.

Possible Murder Suspect (PMS):  Is that your Buick about 2 miles back?  
Carpetbagger Whitney (CW):  Yes… I’m sorry… should I not have parked there?
PMS:  Oh no… It just looked like it might have broken down.  
CW:  Oh no… I’m just walking.
PMS:  Do you need a phone?  I live down the road, you can borrow the phone at my house.
CW:  Oh, that’s so sweet of you.  I’m fine.  I’m just walking.  

At this point she was looking at me like I had bull horns sprouting out my head.  Apparently I was the equivalent of a Japanese tourist on that road.  Three-hundred-plus pounds, looking like I ain’t done never walked a day in my life, carrying a purse and a camera.

I’m thankful that she was willing to help… unless she was really trying to drop the hint that I should get the heck off of her road!  But it made me laugh… Carpetbagging Whitney… soon to hit your neighborhood… watch out!

PS –  Thank you to my favorite sweetest Plunger Fairies (hi Audrey and Karen) for the basket full of fun (a beautiful hand-woven basket, a darling owlie, a gift card to my favorite grocery store, Kleenex, and a pad of paper).  You didn’t need to and you shouldn’t have, but I’ll shut up and appreciate what kind women you are!   Hugs sent your way!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shuffling Ice Syndrome and Breath of Heaven…

I couldn’t decide which title to use, so I inappropriately used both of them.  Shoot me.  Neither one goes with the other, but I have ADD… give me a break… oh look, a shiny penny!

Now that my favorite season of all the seasons is here full force, which is winter… NOT… I find myself adopting a new mechanism for walking outside… and by walking outside I mean literally in parking lots and/or from the car to the house… not like exercise walking.  You couldn’t pay me 8 billion dollars to get me out woggercising with ice on the ground!  AIN’T HAPPENING!  The reason being?  Almost a year ago to the very day is when I was standing out in the driveway, still as a dead, frozen mouse, when all of a sudden my feet slipped out from underneath me and I broke my right wrist.  What followed was one of the most miserable winters in all of existence… and now… I find myself shuffling like an old lady, approximately 2 feet per hour and grabbing anyone’s arm who happens to be walking near me.  I get anxiety when I think of having to walk on or near ice because ice is deceptive… you think you’re sure footed and before you know it you’re lying on your back seeing drunken dancing sugar plums in front of your eyeballs.

It’s quite entertaining to watch… for everyone but me… and I’ve adopted chanting how much I adore winter (opposite day) and how I’m going to move from winter as soon as I can afford to.  You best believe it.  Save me that shack in Arizona nearest the ocean!  😛   I even dug out the clutz Christmas present I got from my sister one year.  These rubber majiggies that you stretch over the bottom of your shoe that are supposed to provide traction.  I wore them into Kneaders on Saturday evening, got one of the spikes caught in the carpet, tripped, and the thing came flying off my shoe and some poor chic who was trying to eat a sandwich in peace had to stand up and show me where my flying rubber spike had landed.  Thank all that be holy it wasn’t on someone’s eyeball!

I best get over it.  I start classes again on January 6th and I will have to navigate the icy USU campus for at least 4 months.  Meanwhile… who has a spare spike-studded walker I could borrow for 4 months?  😛  Oh, and a Valium.

As for the 2nd title… Merry Christmas this week, friends.  I hope you all get to spend some time with family and friends and get to remember the real reason for the season amidst the Santa parts.  As my gift to you, here’s a practice recording of my Madre and I singing “Breath Of Heaven,” one of my favorite Christmas songs.  Mary’s point of view, but also a prayer we could all use for a trial we may be going through.  MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

As a side note… you can ignore in the background the TV being turned full blast because we were too loud.  Story of my life… my family is SO over me singing… moving on, folks… nothing to hear here!   Also, this isn’t meant to be a visual video… since the only thing you get to see is Mary’s stomach… I wasn’t so great at aiming the camera… or remembering the lyrics in the 3rd verse… or… eh well.

I have traveled many moonless nights
Cold and weary with a babe inside
And I wonder what I’ve done
Holy Father, You have come
And chosen me now to carry Your Son

I am waiting in a silent prayer
I am frightened by the load I bear
In a world as cold as stone
Must I walk this path alone?
Be with me now, be with me now

Breath of Heaven, hold me together
Be forever near me, Breath of Heaven
Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness
Pour over me Your holiness for You are holy
Breath of Heaven

Do you wonder as you watch my face
If a wiser one should have had my place?
But I offer all I am
For the mercy of Your plan
Help me be strong, help me be, help me

Breath of Heaven, hold me together
Be forever near me, Breath of Heaven
Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness
Pour over me Your holiness for You are holy

Breath of Heaven, hold me together
Be forever near me, breath of Heaven
Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness
Pour over me Your holiness for You are holy
Breath of Heaven, Breath of Heaven
Breath of Heaven

 

Woggercizing in Sweater Vests…

About 3 to 5 times per week, I head down to my favorite research park to woggercize (for those of you not up on Knit-Whit vernacular, woggercize is my word combining power Walking/Jogging/Fat Blobs Woggling like a Walrus/Exercise… though if I were to be honest, it’s 48% power walking, 2% jogging, and 50% fat blobs woggling like a walrus).  That’s beside the point.

I love woggercizing at this particular place because it is convenient, has lighting if I go in the dark, has mostly evenly-paved sidewalks (well, except for that time a few years ago when I tripped and hit my head on the pavement and then walked around with a concussion, 2 black eyes, a huge cut under my chin, and a goose egg the size of an ostrich egg on my forehead for 3 weeks), etc.  Because I go there regularly, I usually run into the same people… the regular research park walkers… it’s a very exclusive club… except we basically try to avoid each other so as not to have to socialize whilst huffing and puffing and woggling.

There’s the chick who wears the black hoodie and has 2 yappy doggies who hate every single gut in my fat blobs.  I only try to avoid her so she doesn’t have to try to reign them both in when they go ballistic in my presence.  One of them doggies hates me so much he growls at me every time I’m within 20 feet of his highness.  I’ve convinced myself that she actually just lives at the park because no matter what time of day/night I am there (and I’ve tested this theory by showing up at all different hours of the day), she is ALWAYS there.  I know what her car looks like and I know that her dogs think I’m a cat or a woggling mongoose… and they be hungry for blood!

Then there’s the friendly older guy who ALWAYS, without fail, wears the same heavy grey sweater vest and gloves.  I don’t care if it’s 95 degrees in the shade, he’s wearing the grey sweater vest and the gloves.  We always wave at each other as we pass by, and he always says something about the weather.  I haven’t gotten up the nerve to ask about his attire… but it’s cold enough now to warrant wearing a sweater vest and gloves, so I’ll let him be.

There’s the pacing smoker, taking a break from work whilst pacing back and forth smoking a cigarette.  There’s the muumuu-wearing shuffler… the older lady on an evening stroll wearing a muumuu (you see, Madre… by making fun of your muumuus, I’m trying to protect you from becoming that muumuu-wearing shuffler).

As you can see, we all have much in common.  Next time I’m handing out invitations for our very first woggercizing club meeting… attire:  grey sweater vests and muumuus… NO GROWLING DOGS ALLOWED!

PS – Thank you to all of the men and women out there who have so bravely served our country in the armed forces.  Y’all are gems and we are all grateful for your sacrifices! 

Convenience Minus Exercise Equals Fat Butt Syndrome…

This weekend Madre and I hightailed it down to the land of smog and fire burning (aka Salt Lake City in August) to hang out like 2 old crows.  I actually played the role of both old crows.  Madre was more a delicate butterfly on the wings of a kookaburra.  I reckon I learnt that from some poetree I read on a napkin once.   While there we met sister, Lindsay and nephew, Ethan for lunch at this joint recommended by the Studio 5 website.  They recommended it for the outdoor seating, but it was like 1:30 in August, so sitting outside in 100 degrees plus wasn’t my idea of a fabulous plan!  We parked our car in a space that required pay via a self-serve pay booth majiggy… stick your debit card or cash in and select how many hours you want to be ripped off for.  PERFECTION!  There were 2 ladies in front of us at the nearest pay booth majiggy.  I’m horrible at guessing ages, so I’ll say they were between the ages of 45 and 65 and call it a day.  Pick an age.  The one lady couldn’t get the buttons to press the amount of hours, so she was resembling a crow stuck inside a tar bin with all of her shrieking and eventually called the 800-number on the side of the pay majigger.  They walked her through the stuff again and at the same spot, she coudn’t get the button to press.  The representative on the phone suggested she walk to another pay majigger and pay there.  That’s when the hurricane hit… or the hurricane brought about by a lady allergic to exercise.   WHAT!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!  The nearest pay booth is HALF A BLOCK AWAY!!!!!!!  

She was totes exaggerating too… I could see TWO pay booths approximately 50 feet in either direction, but that didn’t stop her from ripping the representative on the line a new one.  Really!?  Over walking a few feet?  I got to remembering how painful it was for me to walk even a few feet at 530 pounds… especially in the heat.  I’d be worn out for the rest of the day after such a feat, and so I’d have to have someone drop me off right at the door to avoid the walk in from the parking lot.  That’s just a lot of weight to heft around… especially when one is so horribly out of shape.  The world’s conveniences do play a role in our nation’s weight problem.  Anymore you can press a button  and have everything done for you.  Not like the olden days where to eat supper, you had to kill your own steer, skin it, string it up, cut it, build a fire, and slave over a hot flame just to eat a dagnabbed steak.  What lazy butts we are!   Hi, Texas RoadHouse… give me the bloody bell special with a side of lard sauce.  

That lady made me want to run a marathon… but then I remembered my last attempted half marathon and put the kabosh on that thought… might as well watch one on TV instead!  😉

Question of the Day:  What is the one modern convenience that you are most grateful for?  

Obviously this is not a quality picture of the place we ate lunch at… but if you like Greek/Mediterranean food, I highly recommend this joint!   It is called Aristo’s Greek Restaurant and Cafe  and it was delicious and fresh and delicious!  I had an eggplant and zucchini, tomato, onion, and lettuce gyro with tzatziki and a side of Greek potatoes with lemon.  I wonder if they deliver the 90 miles to Logan?  😛

I also stood next to a live turkey for a good 5 minutes and did not hyperventilate once!!  This is a story I’m sure I’ve told, but I have a fear of birds (especially turkeys) after one attacked me on my grandma’s ranch, knocked me down to the ground, and sat on my chest flapping its wings at me.  Stupid birds!

Bahahahahahahahaha… just following my friendly flower garden’s orders.

For your viewing pleasure… here is Lindsay’s 20-pound cat, Harley attempting to smoosh himself into a too-small-box.  Excuse the blurry quality at the beginning… it rights itself.

RIP Ugly Rocking Horse Shoes…

I have this stupid commercial song stuck in my head, and seeing as there are only like 5 words in the entire song, it’s like I’m one of those wind-up monkeys that play the cymbals until the wind-up winds down, except my wind-up is stuck in the on position for ETERNITY!!  Firstly, those women doing the twist because they get to wear diapers is false advertising!  I ain’t never done the twist for that reason… like almost NEVER!  Meanwhile, I’ll be over here rocking in the corner in shackles, mentally humming the Diaper Twist song if you need me.

Nextly, it’s been a sad week for hideously uglified shoes… my gun metal, see-me-walking-from-20-miles away Mary Jane shape-up shoes are toastified!  I went to strap the strap on them the other night and the whole thing tore right off.

You can’t see it from this angle, but these have a sole shaped like a rocking horse the size of Montana.  I mostly wore them to make the fashionistas in my life cringe in agony.  😛  (coughcough You are welcome, Madre and Lindser coughcough).  I’ve mentioned in the past that these here rocking horse shoes are the only shoes that don’t make the balls of my feet scream when I wogercise.  With normal-people shoes the ball of my foot grinds into the cement/asphalt, causing burning and firey feet for several days.  Kind of like the friction that one would use to start a Scouting campfire… except with my feet and stuff.  They’re not fixable, so I chucked the suckers in the garbage pail and am now entering the grieving stage of favorite shoe loss.  To make me seem less crazy, I ONLY wore these to exercise… it’s not like I was walking around town trying to look like a fashionistas worst nightmare.  (Okay, scratch that… I do that with my clothing choices).  It seems they don’t make this particular shoe any more, so now the hard task of finding a shoe that is just as hideous that won’t cause the weird friction foot issue.  Wish me luck!

Meanwhile… a friend and I took a walk on the River Trail one night last week.  It was like 103 degrees in the shade on that particular night and I was wearing the shoes that make my feet feel like a fire ball.  Needless to say, I was kind of cranky.  So, we were walking along, me being all crankified when all of a sudden this little boy (I’d say 3 years old) grabbed my hand with this hugely muddy palm and started pulling me in the other direction wanting to show me something.  I obliged, even though my inner OCD germ-a-phobe was freaking out at having his muddy hand in mine, and walked over to this mud pile with some twigs sticking out of it.  Apparently, it was a castle… according to little muddy-hand boy.  I complimented him on his mud plop and made a note to tell his mom to review the never take strangers by the hand rule.  I could have been Willy Wonka’s psycho cuzzin, Pervert Wonka for all they knew!   Despite the firey feet and the firey temperature and the muddy hands, I had a smile on my face for the rest of the walk.  So, thank you small naive dirty person for reminding me to stop and view the mud piles.

Question of the Day:  Are you loyal to a certain brand/type of shoe?  If so, what kind?  

Some of you met my meese friend, Leroy when I posted pics on FB… but for those who didn’t, we’re pretty much best buds.  He says hi.

 

 

Oh Durrr…

Thank you all for the kind words and congrats… I seriously think y’all are the BEES KNEES!  I don’t know what that phrase means… call up the assisted living center and ask them.  For those who were asking, the production is April 8th through 11th.  I am not sure where yet.

Also, just to clear things up since I don’t think I was very clear in yesterday’s post… I was clear in my mind but I sometimes forget y’all don’t live in my mind.  I somehow made it look like I was joining the production of Les Miserables!!!  This production is a LOCAL production of Michael McLean’s production, so dude is not involved at all… well, except for the fact that he wrote the material.  Just to clear that up.  So, basically it’s like that movie, The Greatest Christmas Pageant Ever, but without pageants and Christmas… and camels.

Meanwhile… there was blue sky and sunshine today and after I fainted from gleefullness, I actually went outside on a dagnabbed walk!  It was cold (3os), but I ain’t seen blue sky in the longest of times… it made me happy… and I can take all the happy I can get!  Plus, exercising is a good thing… ask Richard Simmons.  Now, snow… listen here… MELT!

Have a fabulous week, you Bees Knees friends of mine!

Shoe Friction…

My feet are all kinds of pleasant.  One year they gifted me with plantar fasciitis issues… and when I finally get that under control, having to wear hideous shoes that rock back and forth, they go and take up residence in Blisterville!  Not to mention that they are the size of a Mack truck on steroids.  I wear a size 10 or 11 (depending on the shoe) and I don’t know if anyone’s noticed women’s shoes in size 10 or 11 are limited, style wise.  Like, they only make the most hideous designs for that size.  Here, girl who wants to blend into the wall… wear these styling leopard-print-during-a-mass-slaughtering-pygmy-goats shoes.

Back to my woe is me-ing… gosh… interruptions suck!  I’ve recently decided that I’m going to wean myself off of the rocking horse shoes for exercising purposes and back to normal tenny-runners.  Mostly because the strap on my last pair of rocking horse shoes is approximately 35 seconds away from breaking in two.  Also, because I’ve had a perfectly fine pair of NEW tennis shoes for the past year and I haven’t dared to wear them due to the fasciitis issues.  I started wearing them last week to woggercize.  They felt fine in the beginning, but then the balls of my feet started to burn like hemorrhoids on a cracker.  Whenever I wogged on the pavement, the ball of my foot was grinding against the asphalt… and the friction was about to start a fire.  Totally a Boy Scout steel and flint thing.  I could have set my butt down in the middle of the street, taken my shoes off, started a grass fire, and roasted marshy-mallows… it was that bad.  The whole wog I was cringing… it hurt!  I wanted to get off my feet and move to Bermuda!  Not to be derailed, I put those shoeds back on the next day and went woggercizing, hoping I just had to get used to wogging in rocking horse-less shoes, but it got worse every time I’d do it.

Fast forward to Saturday.  I was at a Christmas Gift shindig, checking out all of the things that cost way too much money and I came across this booth called Happy Feet!  HELLO!!!!!!!!!!!!  It was like a eeyore sent a rain cloud to smack me in the receptacle.  I hate being in front of salesmen because I have a hard time saying no, but I purposely walked into that booth and sat my butt down.  The dude put these inserts into my shoes… some gel majig that rolls across your feet from the ball to the heel, constantly massaging as you walk.  I bought ’em.  Call me Sucker Extraordinaire!  I really do think they will help my shoe friction issue since it’s most felt in the ball of my foot.  Problem solved for $40?  Time will tell… There’s a getting-used-to-period they recommend on the pamphlet I got with it… only wear them so many hours per day and up that as the days go by… so I’m following that… bring on that wogging thing!  I’m leaving my marshy-mallows home next time!

Question of the Day:  Do you have feet issues?  Do you wear inserts in your shoes? 

Pro-Nation… I’m Totes A Pro…

I learned something new about myself this weekend… no, it has nothing to do with my closet Spice Girl obsession back when I was 16.  Hey, gurllll, Scary Spice… nice to see you on the Olympic closing ceremonies!  Victoria Beckham aka Posh Spice was doing her usual too-cool-for-school-and-this-Olympic-Closing-Ceremony face… which is totes the face I want to perfect in this lifetime… fingers crossed… send me sour-puss-face-making vibes y’all!

No, I learned that I’m a severe pronator when I walk.  For those of you not familiar with what exactly pronation means.  It means that when I walk/wog/square dance, my feet are constantly drifting inward every time I take a step… though mine is so severe it’s almost like I’m walking not with my foot, but on my ankle.  Lindsay and Madre noticed it when we were wandering the streets of Park City… and I didn’t believe them because I would have guessed I was a supinator owing to the fact that I constantly get callouses on the outside edges of my upper feet.  I made them take a video of me walking from behind… and it made me cringe.  It was bad… and it looked painful.  And that, my friends, will be first on my list of things to fix.  Maybe if I can find some fixes for my pronation issue, I can walk/wog/square dance more comfortably… Merle, my square dance partner will thank me later!

Question of the Day:  Are you a pronator/supinator?  Any recommendations for shoes, inserts, assistance for such an issue?  

I will blog more about Park City, etc., later, but for now I’ll leave you with this tidbit.  When we were wandering up and down Main Street, I spotted a shop named Cake.  It was a pretty good spot since I was at least a block away… but I seem to eye out sugar far better than anything.  I was totes excited… you name a place cake and I’ll be your best customer!!  I drug Madre and Lindsay out of our way just to get closer to it…

Excuse you, shop!  You name your place something as delectable as Cake and then have the nerve to not have one ounce of frosting anywhere in your facility, I’m calling foul!  Ain’t no fat kid ever going to fit into your boutiquey clothing… bring in some real dagnabbed cake… either that or change your name to Dresses and Things Fat Kids Don’t Care About!  As if!!

Three Is Totes More Than One… and Two!

For the mini lesson above… you are welcome.  Take notes because there will be a pop quiz next week!  I might even throw in a sneaky question like… If one is less than two and three is less than seven… what is eighteen less than… and also, just for kicks and giggles… why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?  All together now… just like me they long to be close to you!  Good ole Karen Carpenter with the vocals of silken velvet.  (That’s probably not a fabric, but I just made like it was one.)

Moving on… I get Weight Watchers magazine… for motivation purposes, recipe purposes, and all around success story purposes.  When I think about it, they should be sending me their dagnabbed magazine for free.  I put every last one of them worker’s children through college being on that diet since the age of 7.  I’m writing up a petition as we speak!  So, I’m perusing this newest issue when I get to an article about triathlons… mini triathlons, of course… we WW magazine subscribers ain’t gladiators up in this joint.  And you know what the first thought that came to my mind was?  That sounds fun… I’m totally going to do it!   Back the insanity wagon up!!!!  Did I just turn into that annoying bouncy exercising specimen I so used to hate to be around.

Annoying Bouncy Exercise Person:  Let’s go on a hike!
Cranky Whitney:  Why, so I can push you off a cliff?  

That never happened and you can’t prove it!  For those of you unfamiliar with what a mini triathlon entails, it’s swimming for 0.5 miles (vomiting for 20 minutes), biking for 12 miles (playing dead for 30 minutes), and running/walking for 3.1 miles (all the while trying to call the ambulance) all in the same few hours.  Biking for 12 miles… easy… I do it daily.  Walking for 3.1 miles… easy… I do it daily.  Swimming for 0.5 miles………………………………………………………….

That must mean I have to get over my crushing fear of germy pool water, wearing skimpy clothing in public, and did I mention germy pool water and wearing skimpy clothing in public?  By skimpy clothing I really mean shorts and a t-shirt because ain’t no way this chiquita is going to be wearing any form of swimming suit.  PERIOD!  I can’t remember the last time I went swimming, though as a kid I was practically a fish in water… a whale, but a fish nonetheless.  Buck it up, Whitney.  You’ve decided you were doing it and come slurpees and moonbeams, you will!!!!  I just need to find a vacant, child-free, fairly clean swimming pool whilst living in Utah.  Quit laughing… it’s totally possible!  Kids sleep sometimes!  For anyone interested… here’s the tri-athlon training schedule from the WW magazine.

For Quick-Change Artist tips, here’s the link to the whole page scan.  Looks fairly easy, right?  Oh totally… said the girl who thought a half marathon would be a breeze!

Question of the Day:  Do you swim?  Have you ever done a triathlon?  Cache Valleyites… any recommendations for places a girl could go swimming?  

 

Twelve Miles of Nonsensical Ramblings…

I had this thought that my first (almost) half marathon would be like I was Rocky… all running victoriously across the finish line after looking like a dagnabbed warrior with perfect hair and makeup the whole way through.  That’s exactly what happened… in my head… and no one could tell me otherwise because I only listen to the voices in my head.

What follows is a glimpse inside my head during 12 miles of agony!

Mile 1

Oh what a beautiful morning… oh what a beautiful day… I’ve got a beautiful feeling… everything’s going my way.  

Because there was always a song running through my head… ALWAYS.  I brought my iPOD, but I never used it because I was too weakened to get it out of my pack and turn it on.  Effort… not on my side.  Do you want me to do things with my hands or my feet… one or the other… this is not a package deal!

Mile 2

As you can plainly see, my shoes broke.  The best ones I had too.  😛  Actually, I fought with myself on which shoes I should wear to attempt this thing.  The rocking horse shoes (aka shape-ups) won out because I was concerned about my plantar fasciitis flaring and ain’t no way anyone is happy with that bugger flaring!  I soon found out how dumb an idea it was to wear rocking horse shoes, whose sole purpose is to tone and shape your calve muscles and your rear receptacle muscles… my calves started cramping 8 miles in… they were on fire!!!   Call the fire department… except not really.

Mile 3

#*$*@)(($#*)@#()… insert expletives!!!  The wrist holder I was using to carry my camera with broke and the camera busted… it was all bent out of shape and refused to turn on.  I spent the next 9 miles saying every few feet… Gee… if my camera didn’t break I could have taken a picture of that.  

The last picture before the breakage was not of me, thank all that be holy hallelujah!  I’ve always said that’s the reason I don’t take many pictures… fear of breaking the camera!  Instead, it was this one…

Myth, myth, myth… it ain’t just ugly that breaks your picture takers!   I buried good ole cammy in the backyard… you served me well… on occasion… but only since September, so actually you’re still under warranty, but I’m pretty sure the warranty doesn’t cover some doo hickey dropping it on the ground!  Would they go for, it was spontaneous combustion?

Mile 4

If that horse wasn’t dead, he’s the first horse skilled in the art of deep meditation.   Madonna would be proud.  

Theme song at this juncture… Froggy went a courtin’ and he did ride, uh huh uh huh.  Froggy went a courtin’ and he did ride, uh huh!

Don’t ask me why… insanity knows no bounds!

Mile 5

I’m eating pancakes when I’m done.  Pancakes with syrup served by a lady named Betty Crocker with her good friend Aunt Jemima.  

Mile 6

My ankles were going to fall off… pretty sure it had to do with the fact that my rocking horse shoes were walking on the side of the road, slanting to the side for so long… so we traded sides of the road and then my other ankle started aching.  Can’t win for losing.  It was at this juncture that I also sat my butt on a bench in front of my alma mater (Sky View High)… and had to practically use shockwave therapy to get my butt back up off the bench.

Mile 7

I started hallucinating at this point… mile 7 happened to be up a big ole long hill, like 18 miles long, which would only make sense if I actually walked 18 miles.  Carry on.

My favorite phrase at this point, which Madre quickly grew tired of… I swear to you… if I find out via this HRM that I only burned 10 calories, I’ll go batcrap crazy around town.  Don’t try to reign me in, either!  

Mile 8

Chicken convention… seriously.  Two white tents set up with 8 bajillion chickens and roosters pecking around… knowing my history of bird run ins, I crossed the street…  Pretty sure I could hear the chickens telling that famous joke they’re so fond of…

Why did the idiot human cross the road?  

Mile 9

I keep bleeding keep keep bleeding love… I keep bleeding… keep keep bleeding love… Except I changed the words to:  I keep heaving keep keep heaving up… I keep heaving… and then it was… my ache aching ache ache aching feet… my ache aching ache ache aching feet.  

I ran out of pride by mile 9… plopped myself right down on some person’s cinder block in their front yard… which would have been comfortable, except it was absolutely not… felt more like I was sitting on a piece of cement with 2 holes in it… oh, wait…

I’m sure they were looking out the window all like… where the crap did this hobo come from and is she moving in?  But she sure looks good running!  😛   Texted cuzzin Jen to drive 3 hours from Rexburg to bring me a bottle of Jack Daniels and a case of Percocet.  She declined… the NERVE!!!

Mile 10

THE AGONY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I passed a cemetery and if I’d have had a shovel, I’d have totes took a nap.  They also were setting up for a graveside burial, putting chairs out and such… SO TEMPTING!!  But I restrained myself and hobbled my broken down legs away from it.  Imagine some poor unsuspecting family wondering which side I was from… looked like a rat just come in from the sewer grate.

Mile 11 

Insert every body part into the following sentence… Oh, my aching ___________ !!!!!

At this point I was also cursing the fact that I never perfected walking on my hands.  Think of how “hand”y that would have been… bwahahahahahaha… get it?  After having been asked by Madre for the last 5 miles if I was ready to call in the backup transportation and having said no every time… I finally consented to taking the shortcut… this is where my 13 miles became 12.

Mile 12

Pretty sure at this point I was just rambling just to make sure I was still alive.  Quoted most of the lines from Anne of Green Gables, including something about being Kindred Spirits with the magpies.  Also, wondered aloud if Madre had brought a wagon in her back pocket that I could ride the rest of the way in.  Literally had never been so happy in my entire lifetime to see my house… and to know that there was ibuprofen and a couch on the other side of the door… and a shower!  But mostly ibuprofen.

Question of the Day:  What brand of shoes are your favorite?