clickmom

sleep dancing

The reality of my life is that I am one of those people who really does enjoy going to the gym. I love it. I love listening to music, working up a sweat, stretching, and even lifting the weights. I find the whole process from start to finish completely enjoyable and the after effects even more pleasurable. There is some thing I would like to do at the gym every day of the week, but mostly I don't get to go as often as I would like. Last week I managed to squeeze in a lot of gym. On Wednesday I did a spin class, lifted weights and then went back later for a good pilates stretch. On Thursday I ran at the track. On Friday I did a killer spin class with the one spin teacher who does about 85% of the class standing on the pedals while climbing hills and "running" to boot. Saturday I did Bubbles' 7am spin class and more weights. You can imagine that Saturday night I was in less than fine shape. I was beat. Exhausted is more accurate. By 9:30 I declared my intentions to go to sleep to the family, slid into position under the covers and instantly drifted off into a deep solid slumber. Then Evan decided that he needed me to accompany him to bed. He came into my room, and shook me. I recall my eyes rolling forward, barely focusing on his face, and then my eyes rolling back into my head. He waited and repeated the incredibly annoying shaking procedure 2 more times. On the third shake I mumbled something that even in my semi-consciousness I recognized as incoherent, rolled away from Evan and resumed slumber. Evan figured I was as useless as I appeared and called upon his father to perform the nightly ritual tuck-in.

The next day we were sitting around the dinner table when Evan looked at me and said "Your legs were having violent spasms last night" then he did an imitation of a spasming me which very much resembled the devil dog "running" in her sleep minus the little yipping sounds that I find so completely endearing. It with was an odd combination of embarrassment (I sleep like a dog) and pride (I have the answer to that!) that I then asked him "Do you know what that is?" I took a deep smug knowledgeable breath, assumed the stance of a learned professor and prepared to illustrate just how our nervous system sends out electrical impulses while we sleep when Evan interrupted me with a wave of his hand and answered "Yeah, I know, you were doing the worm."

I RAN 3 MILES TODAY!!

Oh yeah, and did I mention that I ran 3 miles today? I figured out how to use my heart rate monitor and saw that I naturally kept my heart rate right around 140. Above 140 makes me feel a little panicky. It is out of my comfort zone. I suspect that I go above 140 during spin class, when I don't have to support my whole self, so I am going to put that theory to test tomorrow morning. Then after the spin heart rate challenge some of my babes are dropping by with their kids for breakfast. It's going to be a great day. Today I forgot to pick up an entire winters worth of dog poo in the back yard. Whoops.

Oh yeah, and did I mention that I ran 3 miles today? All day long I keep wondering why my legs are so tired and then I remembered, oh yeah, I ran 3 miles today. I really love having Bubbles by my side, I know I would have never have come this far without her there. For example, today I got a little discomfort in my right hip after about 3/4 of the run. If I were alone I would have had this internal dialogue with myself where I warn myself about pushing too hard, mention how overweight I am, and ultimately decide to stop running because I don't want to hurt myself. But Bubbles was there, so I said "My right hip feels weird" and she asked me if I thought I was running crooked. I reminded her that my back is twisted and I am crooked always. Then I recognized that the right hip is the hip that is lower and pushed back, so I tried to tighten my muscles and hold that hip high and it worked! I had to really concentrate, but I could hold that side tight and I felt fine. All the while completing my 3 mile run. Remember when I planned on running 3 miles last summer and I didn't do it? I downloaded all this stuff of the internet, had the husband print it out at work, bring it to utopia and did the plan for exactly one day. Yup, I lasted one day. Heck, I was on the crew team in college and managed to weasel out on all the running. I can't believe that at 42 I can run 3 miles for the first time in my life.

Hey, did I mention that I ran 3 miles today! Now I am committed to doing a 5k run on Mother's Day. There is only one thing. It's a kind of big thing. I run slower than I can walk. Significantly slower. As a matter of fact when I mentioned this little tid bit of humiliation to the chiro he said he was going to get me and grandma in the parking lot for a race. I laughed right along with him, but seriously, she might take me down, cane and all, so I am not going to do it. I am pretty sure this turtle running phenomena has something to do with my stride, which is long when walking and short when running. I suppose I have a month to lengthen that out, at least until I can run as fast as I can walk. I did the 5k part of the run (walk) in 42 minutes at the triathlon this year. It takes me (I can't believe I am admitting this) about 10 minutes longer to run that. I actually walked for 1/2 a mile today, one 1/4 walk in the middle and one at the end as a cool down, so I am not sure how long the actual running section took, but I know it was longer than I'd like it to be. So, a new goal for me, I need to get the lead out.

gloves not drugs

When it was determined by my CRAZY family that I was indeed going through with the whole moving grandma near me thing, they called the building where grandma lived in her little dirty hot rent stabilized apartment and asked if they would offer up a little cash incentive to get her out of the apartment. It is pretty common for big landlords in NYC to give a little money to long term residents to encourage them to get out since the landlord can then refinish the wood floors, install a new kitchen and quadruple the rent. This landlord wasn't willing to play ball. Then the scum-cle informed them that he was thinking of subletting the apartment for the next two years, as is legally allowed, and the landlord retorted with "We won't approve your tenants. Nyah nyah nyah" Needless to say, the landlord was pissed. It was obvious that it was grandma's time to go, they had seen her leave by ambulance enough that they were probably shocked we took as long as we did to move her. (haha, did you see that I said "we"?)

In the mean time, there are still a few things that need to be cleaned out of grandma's place, and I have been putting off doing that. The scum-cle was in her neighborhood and decided to go over there and catalog what was left, in case there was anything of monetary or sentimental value he hadn't already stolen from her. The doormen told him they had been given orders by the management not to let any family in. The scum-cle pushed his way past them and went up stairs. A few minutes later the police showed up and made him leave. Hahaha. He didn't have time to sift thru her things!

The next day the management called me, and in attempt to avoid a law suit, they explained that by calling the cops on my 72 old mild mannered professor uncle, (I find his tweed jackets with the elbow patches to be very intimidating myself) they were merely attempting to protect their long time resident, my defenseless sweet old grandma, and that despite the release form she had registered with the main office allowing my scum-cle, mother and myself in to her apartment, they just didn't know if they should allow any family in. They also mentioned that the scum-cle was "hostile" towards the police man, and well, I'm thinking that at least he and I do have one thing besides DNA in common. I told them they could have their (stinky) apartment back as soon as we finished taking grandma's belongings, and that now that the scum-cle hadn't been able to help, our efforts might be greatly diminished. They asked me to have grandma write a letter allowing us in (cover your asses people!) and to fax it over before we come again. Now, I have to do this, which would be fine, if I didn't feel like I was the one who was being punished for my father's and scum-cle's lame and useless attempt at apartment extortion.

So, I was pissed. And I forgot to wake up early on Tuesday and call the posh gym for a spin seat, so I was pissed and spin seatless with my favorite instructor on Wednesday. Since spin was a wash out, I stopped by The OFH on my way to the gym to get grandma to write that letter. Josh insisted we stay for breakfast. It took forever. It was encroaching on my exercise time. I planned on doing some sort of cardio machine before weights with Bubbles, and was hoping to get at least 40 minutes in. Time was ticking away. TICK TICK TICK EAT YOUR PANCAKES!! By the time I got to the posh gym, got Josh signed into the kids room, and made my way down to the fitness area, I had only about 15 minutes of cardio time. Don't you know that people were on my favorite eliptical machines? I couldn't believe it. The ultimate slap in the face. Don't those people know I need my regular machines? I had to get on an unfamiliar machine, and that was more than I thought I could handle, but I did it anyway. Those machines are so state of the art that I can't figure out their computers, but somehow I managed to program in an interval program (which is what I wanted) for 60 minutes (which I was never going to get) I started pumping and all the pissy pissed off adrenaline from the last couple of weeks started to take over my legs. I pumped and pumped and raised the resistance, and pumped some more. When Bubbles found me a few minutes later, frantically pumping away, she thought I might have been on the machine for the 56 minutes that it showed. "No, I told her, that is what is left of the hour it is programmed to. I'm so pissed I could do it though, and never even slow down." Then I pumped pumped pumped mentioned how pissed I was. Pump pump pump. I told her that the scum-cle pump pump was making all this work for me pump pump and that pump my Dad had helped pump this time pump pump and that they pump pump wouldn't stop calling pump me, and they were pump driving pump me pump cra-pump-zy. But I am sure that back in the gym I used the word "pissed" at least 7 times in there. Bubbles watched me frantically trying to pump my way into taking flight, cocked her head in a thoughtful position and said "I'll be right back" She came back a few minutes later with the best thing I have ever seen in that gym. Boxing gloves. I was like, yeah baby, you got my number! I dismounted the eliptical and followed Bubbles into an empty squash court. I put on the gloves and let loose on those little square red pads she had strapped onto herself. The squares were scum-cle, mommy dearest, and dear old dad. They were the management company that is yanking my chain, the lady on the phone who pretended to care about grandma, the doorman that didn't just look the other way, and even the bitch in the Lexus that stole my parking spot. I was out for blood, and swinging as hard and fast as I could. (While keeping my good posture, tight core, and proper arm position of course) Sweat was running out of my hair as I jabbed and hooked and straight punched out some serious pent up frustration. It was sooo good. I was spent. I sit here, a day later, jumping with fear of family each time the phone rings, yet with a warm cozy feeling deep down inside tinged with longing, yearning, and desire for the gloves. I think me and the gloves might have a beautiful future together.

P.S. That was yesterday. Today I ran 2 1/4 miles and walked 1.

run baby run

Today's run: 2 miles!! I spent the whole last day and a half with my fingers crossed that the forecasted rain would hold off until after my run with Bubbles today. Fortunately things looked good for us and I met her at the track right on time. She told me our 12 laps/3 miles would go like this today: walk one-run one-walk one-run two-walk one-run two-walk one-run one-walk one-run one. This has me doing 1 3/4 mile of running (in case you are keeping track) which is 1/4 mile more of the running than I did last week. The goal is to increase 1/4 mile each week. Which was fine with me, but honestly, I can barely keep track of twelve boring all the same laps, let alone this kind of convoluted schedule. We just got on the track and set off on our way. During one of the walking laps I admitted to Bubbles that I am anxiously awaiting breaking the 2 mile mark. Last week when I told the kids I had run a mile and a half they were less than impressed, and to be honest even in my own head, any length that starts with a 1 seems like child's play while a 2 mile run seems like much more of an accomplishment. I knew her response was that we were building up gradually for several good healthy reasons, blah blah, blah. I did the run with no problem today and even felt that I could have given more. I wanted to give more! At the end we combined the last two single lap runs and Bubbles got confused as to exactly how many laps we had completed. I knew it had been 12, but she wasn't sure. The two of us were side by side counting out on our fingers."run, walk, run, run, walk......" and she really thought I was cutting it short, so I said "Okay, but if I do another lap I am going to run it!" because then I'd get to the 2 mile mark and also because it was starting to rain a bit. I ran that final 1/4 mile with the biggest cheshire cat grin on my face. When we got back to our respective vehicles, Bubbles handed me the registration slip for the 5K run we plan on doing on Mother's day. I can't believe that at this age and this weight I can do this. I'm so proud of myself I'm telling every one what I did.

water logged phone pole legs

What a day. Evan came into my room this morning just as I was managing to wake up all the while wondering wether or not my normal legs had been replaced with water logged telephone poles that were sinking deep into the bed. He slipped into the husband's recently vacated spot and I turned to say good morning to him. I said "Good morning Brown" (which I call him since he is my only brown eyed boy) and had the sudden vision of a young man Evan trying to pick up women by saying "What can Brown do for you?" I thought I was hilarious, Evan didn't.

I dropped Evan and Matt of at school, picked up some cleaning supplies, and headed over to the Old Folks Home (from now on referred to as The OFH) to see grandma. The great news was that not only was she out of bed and dressed, she even had makeup on, and lip stick too! Josh and I brought her down to breakfast. She seemed great! Then we went back up to her apartment to do some unpacking. I tried to degrease her little microwave, but seeing me cleaning upset her ... a lot. So I switched to unpacking. Seeing photos of my grandpa who died in 1969 made her cry. She said she was mad at him for leaving her. I said he had couldn't help it, he died. I swirtched to a different box. This unpacking continued to upset her for a bit, until Josh got interested in unrolling the 1/2 ton of paper the movers used to protect grandma's long life time of bric a brac. It was fun for Josh to find the little ceramic duckies and unicorns hiding in all the shredded dead trees. I made grandma in charge of paper collection, so we all had a job and I managed to clear out about 5 more boxes. Then I dropped Josh off at school.

It was off to the track then. Remember that lofty 5K goal I made for next May? And how I was going to not only be able to run 5K in May, but do it for an actual 5K race? I've been less and less sure I could do it, but I managed to find my groove, and today I did 12 laps (3 miles, or approx 5K) and actually ran 5 of them, which means I ran 1 1/4 miles! There is a first for me! At some point I am pretty sure I channelled the awkward run of the awkward runner I see around town. I may have run awkward but hey, I was running.

Then it was off to Starbucks to main line some latte, and over to the Middle School up Matt. I hung at home with Matt for a few minutes, and then I drove over to Josh's school where I got to sit in the truck for 1/2 hour just so I could get a good parking space and be able to leave fast to pick up Ev. So as not to waste my precious time, I initiated project PSA for Public Bathroom Use. So far so good, it got a chuckle out of Evan so if you like potty humor, stay tuned.

I then brought Evan and Josh back to The OFH, unpacked two more boxes, which Evan enjoyed tremendously. He liked taking charge of Josh and letting Josh know that Evan had all the answers to all of grandma's curious stuff. I stifled a laugh when I overheard Evan telling Josh that something he had unwrapped was "decreational" because all I could imagine it being was a very pretty bong. Then I gathered the boys and grandma, and headed off to Target. You see, when I signed all 900 pages of The OFH contract, I noticed there was a clause in there which mentioned that all electricity using devices must have UL tags on the cords and meet current safety standards. Ahhhh, let's just say that grandma needs new lamps. Honestly, I don't think I'd plug her lamps into my home, just saying. Grandma said she wouldn't mind burning to death, but I said we had to think of the neighbors.

Since Target is such a huge place, I cleverly called ahead and asked if they had a wheelchair I could use for grandma. They said they did, but upon arrival I was pointed toward an electric chair scooter with a big basket on it. Hahaha! Joking right? Nope. Grandma climbed in and she was off. She was like a little kid zipping around with a big smile plastered on her face. Several times she tried to let the boys have her seat and I had to forbid that. Grandma settled on letting them depress the forward button, so grandma zoomed down the aisles steering with the two boys jogging by her side, pressing the go forward lever. Every motherly bone in my body wanted to yell "Hands off the cart!!" at them, but grandma was so darned happy with the whole set up that I couldn't bring myself to do it. I simply stayed 10 steps ahead of them clearing the aisles and warning the other shoppers.

We brought grandma back to the house for dinner, which I picked up on the way home (Japanese tonight, as opposed to diner food last night and Chinese the night before. I wonder of they miss me at Whole Foods) I tried my "What can Brown do for you?" line from this morning out on Matt, who thought it made as much sense as some scenario where Matt whispers "Where the pets go" or "America runs on Matthew" so I am seeing that no one else gets my humor here. I returned Grandma to The OFH around 7:30. I'm pretty sure she was happy and content. She told me how much she enjoyed the boys and how good it is to know she will be seeing them all the time. I told her, that now I could say "See you tomorrow" instead of "I'll try to come back soon" and I'm sure that deep down inside she knows that even though she has to adopt to this new surroundings, it'll be a happier life for her from now on. The proof is below.

lame and fat

Can't really type too much because yesterday I went and sprained my wrist. I managed this accomplishment while using the virtually harmless cable propelled weight lifting machinery. I am coining the phrase "spazthlete" and the definition is me.

I did spend time with Bubbles on the treadmill today. It was depressing. I kept looking at her legs in the mirror and my legs in the mirror. (I can't see anything else due to the tv screens mounted on each treadmill.) The running didn't go well, so I don't want to talk about it.

Then the mail came and there were lots of catalogs. There was this one, which I can buy socks or gym bags from, but none of the clothes, shoes, bras, or underwear fit me and then there was this one, which I am going to need very soon if I don't stop bingeing.

I am not going to bed happy.

3 confessions in 12 laps

I wondered if perhaps Bubbles was trying to kill me today. In fairness to Bubbles, and all the Bubbleses of the world, I asked her to make me do what it is she is making me do, and that thing she is making me do is run. Thursday is make clickmom run day. Last spring I had this fantasy about running (instead of walking) the last 5K leg of the triathlon. Then over the summer, I got myself all psyched to do what I needed to do to work my way up to running it and didn't have what I thought was the enthusiasm to run, which actually turned out to be the early signs of the intestinal condition that side lined me for two months this fall, except I thought it was all in my head and didn't realize it was physical. So, I just resigned myself to walking. And I walked, most of it. I did run for two little tries, and my final time was faster than 4 mph, in the end I was satisfied.

So, I one day I tell Bubbles that I dream of being able to run and she suggests we work together towards a goal, say a 5K in the spring, and she prints up a little schedule for me, and we start meeting at the track and walking with little bits of runs thrown in. It's all good, well pretty good, in the back of my mind I have to block out a lot of negative self talk that suggests that a person of my size might 1. look completely foolish running 2. break her ankles/knees/hips running and 3. have a heart attack running. Also, Bubbles has about 8 ounces of fat on her and all 8 are tucked flatteringly into her sports bra, so next to her I feel even more like a Michelin Man than I would next to someone with more of a typical American sized body.

Today it was too cold for the track (for me, maybe not for someone way tougher than me, but it was for me) so we met at the posh club, where I mounted the dreaded treadmill. Folks, this is where I make my first dumb confession for this post. I fear the treadmill. Truthfully, more than the treadmill itself, I fear falling off of the treadmill. Which, if you knew me would be a distinct possibility. I am the friend who can manage to fall while standing completely still, not only that but I can also manage to break my wrist while falling when standing completely still, so me on a fast moving conveyer belt might not be your best bet if you are the one who does not want to drive a broken me to the emergency room. However, if you were my orthopedist, you would probably encourage me to spend lots of time on the treadmill.

Once in the vicinity of the treadmills, I realize I am being stared down by Bubbles. I get on the treadmill she gets on the treadmill next to mine and we commence walking. We use the lap program which I request so as not to confuse me when we get back to the track after the melt down, which hopefully happens soon. We walk a couple of laps to warm up and then instead of running half a lap (1/8 mile) like I was doing at the track, Bubbles says, let's run the whole lap. I look at her like she is crazy, suggest she tie one of the 100 pound posh club anorexics to her back just to even the score, then I force a stiff upper lip and commence running. And you know what? I did it! More than once! All together I ran around the track 3 times for a grand total of 3/4 mile of running. Not all at once mind you , I did it in four separate tries. On the first try I did a whole lap. On the second try I had to stop running and walk because (here comes embarrassing confession number two) Bubbles was trying so hard to cheer me on and remind me of things like "breathing" that I was completely distracted from the mathematical patterns I need to think about when I am doing something that is painful and in this case takes concentration (cause I didn't want to fall off!) like running or trying to ignore the dentists drill. I explained to her that I couldn't do the math I needed to do when she was talking. Since I had told her once before about my need for equations, I felt justified in shushing her and letting her know that I require silence when exerting myself on a treadmill. Bubbles tried to be quiet, really she did. Her next strategy involved huffing to remind me to breathe. (Confession number three coming right up) It gives me the willies to hear other people breathing. Not just breathing, but more the panting kind of breathing. To me it is the equivalent of a close talker. If I can hear you breathing then you need to back away from me. I silenced her by putting my pointer finger to my lips and she did the only thing she could do , she increased her own speed on her own treadmill until she was running at a challenging pace for herself. It was about a mile and a half per hour faster than my pace, but hey, I WAS STILL RUNNING! All together I did 12 laps, and I sweating like a glass of iced water in the desert. When I went into the locker room to use the potty, I saw that my face did not have the nice healthy red glow I usually have after a good spin class. I was purple. Running, even in my own special slow and timid turtle like way, had whooped me. I can't wait until next Thursday.

spinning

In my effort to regain my previous level of strength and cardio-vascular health, I realized that I had neglected the dreaded spin class. I had the excuse of Josh's swim class during one of the classes I had attended previously and now I have Bubbles (the trainer) during the other. Oh well. Right? Wrong. I knew that I had to re-enter the wonderful world of spin eventually, (I mean those 11 miles on next years triathlon aren't going to get any shorter!) so when Bubbles told me that the posh club was adding another spin class on Saturday mornings and that she would be the teacher, I decided it was fate. Naturally the class is held at the ungodly hour of 7AM. Normally at 7 in the morning I am trying to use my psychic powers to float myself over to the bathroom so I can start the day. This morning was different, I had the alarm set for 6 and when it went off I jumped out of bed, located the sound which entered my dreams with the subtlety of bullet hail from a gatling gun. (The fastest automatic weapon there is, thank you Evan for that helpful tidbit of gun trivia) Then I limped into the bathroom and sat on the can and tried to psychically will myself into my gym clothes. Needless to say, I need assistance in the psychic department or maybe even a more realistic morning plan.

I made it to the class, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, and dropped my stuff onto my favorite bike. I left the rest of my stuff in the locker room and when I returned to the spin room a very sweet woman I know from around the schools was sitting on the bike besides mine. I was happy since she seemed unlikely to have B.O., be a profuse sweater, or be a distracting grunter. Hey, you have to choose your spin mates carefully! I don't want to be in anyone's scent or spray zone, and I definitely don't want to hear them making sex noises while I pretend to climb a hill.

The lady I know from around and I remarked to each other, and to Bubbles who was busy setting up her bike, how many men were in the class with us. We were both used to the SAHM crowd during the day in the middle of the week and had never seen so many hairy legs all lined up in the spin room before. Well, just as Bubbles was going to start the hairiest of the legs spoke up and said to Bubbles "There are so many men in here because last week they were all talking about how HOT you are."

Bubbles froze.

Bubbles remained frozen.

Nobody moved.

Bubbles forced a smile.

Bubbles started up class.

And she gave us a great class. Well, the other people thought it was a great class, I mostly thought "How the hell do her legs move that fast? I can't believe what that guy said. She looks like the road runner! Did he really say HOT? Could he have said HARD? I can't even see her legs! That man has to be stopped, he can't say things like that. My legs hurt. What a pig that guy is. Her legs are an actual circle of blur! Look at those legs. She is animated! I am going say something to that man. I wonder if Bubbles still has circulation in those legs." Yeah, remember me? I am the turtle of the human race, slow but steady, and Bubbles was from some other speedy hare tribe that my tribe of turtles did not ever breed with, and the reason for that is simple it is because we - couldn't - catch - them. Now I fear I might have to stop making excuses and find my way back to one of the other slower paced spin classes.

So, anyway, after the class, I moseyed over to the guy and I said "You owe Bubbles an apology. You didn't say she was tough, or great, or could run circles around you, you said she was hot and if you worked with her right now she would be filing a sexual harassment suit against you." And the guy said "You're right." I was so shocked I just turned and tip toed out of the room and I don't know if he did apologize to her or not.

vacation finale

It's the last day of the kids vacation, all three of them have this extraordinary boogery cold and cough, and it is pouring rain out there. It's a good thing we were so busy the first half of the vacation, otherwise, they would have been home bound for the entire 10 days. At this point I am not even 100% sure I am sending Josh back in to school tomorrow, he did have a 10 minute coughing jag upon waking that was something I could have lived with out. Now I know why my freaky mother used to say "I feel your pain."

I am sad, frustrated and down right depressed to tell you that just when I thought Jackie was losing strength she was just hiding in the corner lifting weights. I first noticed some swelling yesterday afternoon and then found myself running full speed to the useless pain killers in the medicine cabinet by the time to order dinner came around. (Uh, I can't cook and paint a mural at the same time) Jackie seized up all evening, during my New Years Eve showing of The Last Kiss, (And by the way, I would have totally kicked Zach Braff to the curb for even thinking of talking to that ho) She made it impossible for me to enjoy the formidably priced champagne that the husband brought home. sigh.

Jackie has become my Glenn Close (in Fatal Attraction.) I had one brief fling with the oral surgeon, it lasted less than an hour, and now Jackie just will not take no for an answer. She is disrupting my life, threatening my marriage (read: no nooky) and even taking my kids for a roller coaster ride (one could say I have been up and down with them the past two weeks). I keep looking around, like she is going to come out of no where wielding a knife (or knitting needle) and threatening my existence. Really I wanted to get tipsy and lucky to ring in the New Year, neither of which seemed in the least appealing while clutching a hot microwaved herbal heat wrap to my throbbing mouth while rocking back and forth crying real tears of defeat and surrender. If I could give up I would, but what can I do? Have my face removed? Who will be my Anne Archer? I'd take the world's longest bath if I thought I could drown the bitch. I wonder if I ask the regular doctor of there is some kind of injection that can paralyze a nerve temporarily. I could botox my face, and then talk like I just left the dentist for 6 months. Imagine what a sight to behold I would be if I couldn't lift my eye brows or move the right side of my mouth? How attractive would that be?

I never make New Year's resolutions, but this year I am going to make two. As if I weren't typical enough, the first resolution is to undertake what ever exercise program the new trainer I am testing out at the posh club says I should. She is planning on setting me up with a whole schedule, and I am determined to stick with it. She has never had a weight problem (except for baby weight that she immediately shed after birth-I don't count easily lost pregnancy weight as legitimate, no matter how hard your skinny ass is trying to sympathize with me) but knows what to do to avoid a weight problem. She claims to have two fat sisters and fat potential herself. I don't see that in her, but am willing to do what she says anyway.

I wanted to run in the triathlon last year, and I didn't, but now I want to run in it even more. Every time I see a woman running down the street I seethe with jealousy and want to be able to do what she can do. If I run instead of mostly walk this year, I'll cut 10 more minutes off of my time, and then my time would be completely awesome. I might have to get this trainer to work with me several times a week to start out, but I can do that. This is going to be the winter I get stronger than ever.

The other one of my run of the mill resolutions is going back on a diet, except, Dr. Phil said I have to be specific, so the diet I am going to do is going to follow is the FAA diet. I can recite it in my sleep, now I just have to follow it when I am awake. One big difference is that this time I am going to actually measure my food. I even have plans to buy a food scale until I get the feel for normal portions. It is low carb, high protein, and has worked for me in the past. I might even consider attending the FAA meetings. The stupid thing that turned me off to the meetings was one woman who said the same thing every week. Every single week without exception ever she said "I had a terrible week, I wasn't gonna come, but now I am glad I am here." and I waited for this woman to have a good week, or even a fair week, or any week that wasn't terrible, but it never happened even once, and I wanted to slap her in the face. I guess I am just not programmed to think that way. Maybe she moved.

The kids go back to school tomorrow, and no one is less happy about it than I am. The last thing I want to do tomorrow is wake up early to prepare their food and drag their whining butts out of bed. Bah.

that photo I spoke of

Ok, I figured out a way to share this image with you without publishing a photo of my babes.

Here we are, there is me with the down syndrome on the left, Glory in the middle and Peanut on the right. As you can see... the hands. WTF am I doing with my hands? I am neither old enough nor manly enough to do that with my hands and it bugs me. And Peanut and Glory? I guess they aren't so sweat phobic as I am cause really, I hated all those sweaty women trying to hug me. I even hated when they high fived me, cause they had sweaty hands too. I mean, if I am going to be covered with your sweat, well, you better intend on marrying me.

a photo

Peanut suggested to me that my paper could possibly avoiding the topic of the triathlon and possibly not at all interested in her effort to enlist so many local women. I asked my editor and she said she did indeed want to run a story. I asked the people who do not know to reply individually to each other's email to please share their photos with the paper. My editor spoke with Peanut and some of the others, and then I heard that they were looking for a specific photo of me, Glory and Peanut for the paper. I emailed the editor and told her I wasn't too thrilled about the idea of having my own personal photo in the paper. She chose to ignore my desperate pleas and the paper with the photo of me came out. Right there on the cover for all to see is the strangest looking photo of the three of us. I am on the left, I am wearing my sports sun glasses which give that athletic down syndrome look, my hair is in the same pony tail I fashioned it into after the swim, (neat!) I am doing the double chin thing big time, and I am doing some kind of weird finger tip touching finger tip man of wisdom hand thing with my hands. They look like I am about to share some deep thought out words of wisdom. Then there are Glory and Peanut next to me. I mean, technically Glory is next to me, and Peanut is next to her, or on top of her, or maybe even clinging to her, but I really look like the unloved third wheel/odd man out since the two of them are doing some sort of embracing supportive leg humping intimate moment of post triathlon bliss thing with each other.

After being told the equivalent of "Oh my goodness, when I heard a fat thing like you did it I knew I could do it." fifty times at the triathlon, I had decided to try to fly under the radar for a while. I am tired of hearing that. It's insulting already. The front page phtoto is not going to contribute to my anonymity. I thought maybe people wouldn't recognize me, no such luck, at pizza night at Josh's school tonight I was congratuated by no less than 10 people. Dang. Every one read the paper this week.

The only thing I take solace in is that I had already put a real shirt on so I am not in my super skin tight jelly roll enhancing triathlon shirt. Thank goodness for the little things. Right?

triathlon photos

Feeling great today, no soreness, not tired. Am wondering if maybe there is some adrenaline residue going on. When I got home yesterday I decided to use this dead sea salt scrub that I brought home from Israel. You know all the salt and minerals are supposed to totally detoxify your body. I thought it would be a great way to avoid sore muscles. Big mistake. It seems that I had chafing issues (common for triathletes who have to be active in wet clothing) that were there but not all that bad and therefore not evident until the application of salt. Yah, ooow. Salt in a wound ooow. Am pretty sure that Dead Sea salt scrub wasn't on long enough to work, but I can't be certain since you know how hard it is to keep track of time when you are cring out in pain and desperately trying to adjust the shower temperature..... you know...

There were technical difficulties with my camera yesterday. I gave it to the Husband to let Evan take photos of me like he did last year. There were two big stumbling blocks. One problem was that it was way more crowded this year. It was hard to see me and I was moving in a much more conjested group of women. Sometimes they couldn't see me coming until I was practically next to them. Last year I was almost by myself the whole time. (I call it slow girl in the last wave out syndrome) The other problem was that the camera is acting a little funny (Why can't they make products that last forever like they used to? I mean I still have my fully functional first 35mm bought for my birthday in 1982) I forgot to warn them about that.

Luckily there were professional photographers along the course and in a few days they will email me some photos that I can order from them for some astronomical price. In the mean time I can share these with you:
I am towards the rear in a green bathing cap. Can you see me? Yeah, that's me, I am the one in the black top. Don't I look awesome in a bathing cap?

Here is the one and only photo of my face for the day. I am in the slow moving NO PASSING lane behind a slow moving lady on a mountain bike on my way out for the biking segment that I don't realize I am about to kick butt in. My lips are blowing kisses, my bat wings are waving hello, and my jelly rolls are so happy to see the family they shook with glee. I was thrilled at the moment Evan snapped this photo.

shake shake shake, shake your booty, you can do it , you can... shake shake

Someone had the camera turned off when I passed on my way out for the run (walk) leg of the tri. OOOoops! I am just happy that my pace in the walking was more than 4 mph. What the heck is on my left calf? You might be wondering. It's my logo! Matt did it for me the night before with permanent marker. Here it is later in the day after it was mostly sweated off and after it received one of the 17 mosquito bites I collected during my four hours on the beach:

And last but not least: The shirts every one coveted the entire day.... our tie dye experiment gone right ... TA DA....

consider me seasoned

Remember when I was all "I want to beat my time from last year." and then I got all disappointed with the lack of training and started saying things like "I don't care what my time is." and then I almost gave up (except you know I would never really give up, I would only consider it for a moment or two) and got totally down on my lack of training and started to feel like even if I was slower than last year it would still be okay because in the end I had still come a very far way??

I beat last year's time by over 21 minutes.

Shocking. I know, I am totally shocked. As a matter of fact, I checked my watch when we got in the water, and then not again until I was almost through with the bike ride. I was so far ahead of where I thought I would be that thought my watch had stopped. Also, I thought my little bike computer/speedometer was off because I couldn't believe how fast it said I was going. I am going to bow before my favorite spin teacher on Wednesday. I might just kiss her feet too. I am definitely continuing with the spin. It made me strong. And I do go way faster than I would without this one particular instructor inspiring me.

I was so excited to be going down there to the tri with my babes Kitten, Boops, and Glory. The whole summer Boops and I have been commiserating over the lack of intimacy we feel with this triathlon compared to last years. I told them all I would stock the car with all sorts of goodies for us to enjoy on the car trip home afterwards. I was so excited picking out everyone's favorite stuff and focusing on our little group, and how we would be happy and celebrating together afterwards. I kept telling myself that the triathlon could be about "us" if we just make ourselves see that way.

Then Boops and Kitten told me at the triathlon they wouldn't be coming home with me. I was crushed. I mean, I was really hurt. I had this whole car party thing planned, I had coordinating plates and napkins and even cute little drink straws with umbrellas for our sodas. I was all excited and corny and it was all because I was psyched to be with them. I had enough food for 8 people. I didn't do a very good job of hiding my disappointment. Then Boops talked down to me and I was devastated. I was really trying. the triathlon was over and I wanted everything to be good. I consoled myself with the thought of having lively conversation with Glory on the way home. I like Glory, she is a real good person and I like talking to her. As Glory and I were heading out of the park Glory invited Peanut to go with us.

Without asking me first.

Deep breathe.

So, I floundered and I just didn't feel like I could say "Wait a minute, anyone who rides in my car has to not only be NICE to me, but they have to consider themselves my friend!" because of the whole group dynamic and don't you know that Peanut came along too. Then there was hellish traffic leaving the park. We pretty much sat there not moving for an hour. I didn't feel like I could really talk too much and had to carefully measure everything I said. Great. Just great. And I was the volunteer driver. It sucked.

OK, there was one good thing. One highlight of the traffic jam was when an irate triathlon participant got out of her car a few cars behind me and jogged up to the dimwitted Park Ranger directing traffic and very demonstratively told him what she thought. I was cheering for her from inside my vehicle, and rolled down the window to thank her as she headed back to her car, and it who should it be but the lady I talked off the ledge in Whole Foods last night! I said "Hey thanks...WHOLE FOODS! How did you do?"

Then the Park Ranger let us through and we had another hour of driving and me choking on every word to get home.

I was pretty emotional when I got home, tired, feeling let down by my friends, having been captive with Peanut for two hours, sharing all the goodies I had gotten for my real friends. I had already invited everyone over for a champagne toast this evening so I figured I still had to go through with it. Luckily Peanut emailed me her decline. I had a big nice loving speech all scripted out in my head. Then Boops didn't show up. I just couldn't bring myself to do the toast without her there. Even B and Wildmom came, and they didn't even do the triathlon. We just drank and ate the left overs from what I had brought in the car. It was good. Being around my babes cheered me up.

So, the day pretty much went like this: I rocked the triathlon, the friends rocked me. Now I am lying down with Josh. I'll be asleep first for sure. Photos tomorrow.

last post before the big T

12 hours from now I'll hopefully be somewhere on the bike trail with two well inflated tires. Today Kitten asked me what I would do if I got a flat on the course. My answer was pretty obvious. "Stand there and cry until someone helps me change it." I have all the spare parts, just not the know how.

I was pretty stressed today, and had to go to the registration. I was expecting the same hotel as last year, but it was a different one. This years hotel was skanky and it smelled bad too. It was on the ocean. In a really seedy town. I overheard women in the bathroom hoping their cars would still be outside when they had finished. Sad thing is, they were completely serious.

I got my second tritard uniform top today. Today's gift (from several local doctor/sponsors) was a free sweatshirt. Nice. No, I mean it, it is nice. I just can't wrap my mind around wearing it, yet. One day. When no one remembers what it is. Or maybe it'll be the sweatshirt I leave up in Utopia. Yeah, that's what I'll do with it, I'll wear it up there.

At the registration there was a table with lots of logo clothes a girl could purchase. One of the offerings was shirts for your family that said they support you. I wanted those for my kids, who do the corny thing so well. The only problem is that other women were scooping them up too. I thought and I thought and then I relaized I had found the perfect use for Peanut's tie dye kit! Guess what me and Evan did tonight? The shirts are supposed to sit for 24 hours with the dye on them, they'll only be able to sit for 2, but I have my fingers crossed. Even if the colors are faded, they'll hopefully show. I'll have pictures tomorrow. I am goingto let Evan use my pro camera again. He did such a good job last year, and the photos he took of Matt bear hugging me at the finsh line are ones I will always treasure because Matt was so excited and Evan gave me such a gift by taking those photos.

The husband earned a few more points today. While I was out registering with my babes, and treating ourselves to an anxiety ridden lunch during which we all inhaled every bite on our plates including the large side of fries, he got me a bouquet of flowers. A really nice one too. I'll post that photo tomorrow also.

Speaking of anxiety, ahem, I am there. Hello state of anxiety. I was chugging rescue remedy and well, my anxiety laughed at that little brown bottle. I went to Whole Foods for some post triathlon pig out supplies and met another future triathlete (identified my her lovely markered arms). I said HI and she descended upon me. She was freaking, It made me feel worse. I calmed her down and twitched my way through the frozen food aisle. Not what I needed.

Boops came over to rack up her bike and we had a beer. That helped. In the most subtle of ways. Writing helps, but honestly, I dread laying my head down tonight. I know that I am not going to sleep and what sleep I do get will be filled with more bizarre dreams. Every night for the past week it has gotten weirder and weirder and I am really good at the weird dream thing to begin with. I wake up from these new level of weird dreams all impressed with myself thinking "Whoa, that was way weird." If I ever go crazy, OMG, the thought boggles my own vivid imagination.

OK, tune in tomorrow for the update. Time to rinse out the tie dye.

36 hours and counting/still upset about the school

Now the triathlon is really breathing down my neck. In a mere 36 hours from now I should be out of the water and on my bike. I hope. I am a bit brain dead, and weepy all day and am hoping it is becasue I have not gotten much sleep the past few days. I don't know why I haven't been sleeping. I think it is becasue I am anxious. I have had to use an alarm for the first time since I was 27. I don't like waking up to an alarm. I am jumping out of the bed all night long thinking the alarm is going to go off. Then there are the dreams. Last night I had some dream about little girls that I was helping to the bathroom who were peeing before they sat down and they wouldn't stop. Maybe that was because Evan admitted to drinking several glasses of water before bed and I was worried. Not about washing sheets, because I told him that it was a dumb thing to do and if he woke up all wet he had to go back to sleep in his wet bed and not wake me up. I am very loving when my kids won't just go to bed, can you tell?

The transition back to school was worse than I thought it would be. Evan who is always so graceful and at ease in social situations wasn't happy at his new school, Josh decided that he liked preschool better than kindergarten, and Matt and school are like oil and water on a good day. There is more to the story of the principal. I marched in and had a chat with him the next school day after he (Matt left this part out) grabbed Matt in an attempt to steer him back into the school, threatened to call the police on Matt, and sought him out later in the day to continue the harrassment. I sat down with the guy and immediately thought to myself "Oh, no, I have your number Warty, I have met too many guys like you before." and by that I met the kind of guy who does what ever the freak he wants to , thinks every one else has a problem, and will never tell you the truth about anything. The idiot principal tried to turn the whole incident around by asking me if Matt was getting therapy and what did I expect him to do with his life (To which I wantred so badly to answer: Anything except pick on young people, shorty) and just generally tried to turn the tables on me. I felt that by the end of our discussion I successfully avoided being tricked into any of his traps, and also successfully redirected the conversation, and would never in my life want to be in the same room as 'Ol Warty again. What a dick chat.

Unfortunately two days later we had a previously scheduled appointment with Matt's case worker on our aganda and 'Ol Warty joined us. He told absolute lies, feined concern for Matt as well as knowledge about his syndrome and needs and any other ingenuine thing he could have possibly done. The husband had joined me for this meeting (If you don't know that they take you more seriously when the Dad shows up, then learn it now) and I sat there stewing thinking that I would have to convince the husband that the man he met today bore no resemblence to the pig bully man I met two days before. After the meeting we walked out into the parking lot and the husband turned to me and called the man on everything. What a relief!! Bonus points for the husband!!

Sometimes I get so worn out fighting just to make sure that Matt gets treated decently, when the reality is that if every teacher treated every kid the way Matt needs to be treated then there would be happier better behaved kids, happier teachers, more learning , and just all around happiness in school. I am tired of the fight. I want to take all the people who think you get somewhere by being a tough jerk and drown reprogram them. Super Nanny for teachers! OMG- that would be the best. I am writing to the networks... Just think of the possibilities.....

The whole drama of the week combined with my ambivalent and also negative feelings about the triathlon this year are weighing on me. I am tired, weepy, sad. I just want it all to be over. I am worried about the clothes, I have no good shirt to wear, I am worried about the bathrooming, with good cause, my stomach is upset, and I am sad that something good about this tri has been taken away from me. This triathlon was an intimate experience last fall for my babes and me, now it is the Peanut circus. There are too many cooks they have spoiled the broth. I want the tri to be history and school to be routine.

If every September is going to be like this then I give up.

3 days to go, 2 shirts to tie dye and a triathlon.

3 days until I make a fool of myself race day.  I had a mega workout day on Tuesday, finding time to do a little of each leg of the triathlon through out the day. It's a good thing I swam too, because the dreaded Y pool had recently been cleaned and I really needed as in "I am a masochist. "Please hurt me now." to feel what it is like to swim in a bottle of clorox.  No, seriously folks, my lips were burning from all the chemical. I was sure I would emerge from the chemical vat platinum blonde  But, I did appreciate (and because I am such a glass half full kind of girl) for a change of pace,  seeing the line on the bottom of the pool all the way into the deep end and because of the chemical ridden cleaning the sequins on the bottom near the end lane that I had gotten accustomed to admiring every time I passed them along the way were gone as well as the suspicious white floaty clouds that I always assumed were either disintegrating bandages or unstuck from a butt toilet paper balls. I also did my pilates class, which was great, I love my pilates teacher. In true summer 2006 form I haven't been off my butt since then.  And yes, if you are wondering, my legs felt like heavy refuse dragged up from the bottom of a septic tank logs when I went to bed Tuesday night.  Today is theoretically the last day we should be doing any legit training and I was all over the idea of a good hard bike ride, but alas, mother nature laughed in my face once more and called in the clouds.  It is raining. Non stop. I'll try to jump on the treadmill later.

So, I had a pre-triathlon/farewell tasty food Burger King for lunch and cheesecake for dessert.  Hey, I am carb loading, there is a triathlon in my near future!  It's necessary!  I might need a whole two hours of energy on Sunday!  And I have vowed to reattempt the South Beach Diet starting Monday and that means I have to eat one of everything yummy I ever loved to eat between now and then, doesn't it?  Don't even tell me you can start a diet without pigging out for days before hand saying farewell to certain heavenly, deliciously, sinfully forbidden  bad for your health food products.  Well, this is how I do it.  That way I wake up all bloated and sick  enthusiastic on diet day and just want to puke anyways am ready to renew my efforts for a short term solution to a major problem a healthier life style.  Yep, that's simply how those of us who are really in denial it's done around here.  This time, I am going to try to stay "good" until the jelly rolls are gone take the whole South Beach thing more seriously.  If you recall last time I did the diet for two weeks, got on the candy laden boat in Alaska, and well,  PPffftttt, that was the the last I saw of South Beach.  As a matter of fact that was the last I saw of any self respect "diet" .  And I mean that in the: since I don't think that the marshmallow and chocolate binge regimen  I followed this summer would qualify anywhere as a diet in the "diets are supposed to give positive results" kind of way.  Unless a girl ate a marshmallow for lunch and a small piece of chocolate (as opposed to a small percentage of the Hershey's mega pack she purchased over and over just in case the kids wanted some) for dinner and died of starvation, but hey, she would be thin when she died and that is what we count in this society, unless of course your dad is a famous singer named Lionel, and then all bets are off and every one is all concerned for you.

Anyway, back to the tri. Yeah, it is finally here.  I am lame lame lame this year, and I still better beat my time from last year.  The tritards have made up several different kinds of shirts. In reality I don't want anyone to know that I am at all in the least involved with this group.   I'm not involved, all I do is read their emails becasue they cannot figure out how to reply to each privately.  I didn't purchase the first baby doll onesie shirt because hell, I am not advertising for them  it was too prissy for me.  (Hello?  A white shirt with pink banding on it???  NOT!) and because I didn't want to look like a stepford wife tritard, but for some reason I wanted the shirt that is out now.  Probably because the swim couch had something to do withit and I like her.  Without telling anyone (Hi guys you know now!) I drove over to the pick up place this morning, and naturally saw one person, a babe, Glory, the puzzle torturer , and by the way:

so HA!

I DID IT!!  NYAH NYAH!  and Glory asked me what I was doing, and since I had my Alaska rubber boots on (rain remember) and Josh with me, well it was kinda obvious I wasn't in search of physical activity, so I had to admit to her that I had come for  the sole purpose of snagging a tritard shirt.  I am thinking of maybe tie dying it, just to be a discordant teenager unique.  I happen to have a tie dye kit lying around the house.  It was a birthday gift from Peanut's kid to Josh.  I am fairly certain it was either revenge for giving her daughter some play doh (which Peanut happens to hate- I didn't know that until it was too late) or a fuck you "I am about to break up with you, let's see how your kitchen looks after this!  Sucka!" gift since Josh's party was after the incident that tore our relationship apart but before the actual break up.  Either way, I think individualizing my shirt with the kit she gave to my kid would send the message  be fitting.  I just do not know if it is a material that would absorb color or some 21st century sweat wicking synthetic marvel.  I'll have to see Saturday, since Glory said she would grab mine, there by sparing me the indignity of having to go into tritard central and see all the anorexic stepford wives ladies there. Gawd, do I feel mean today .  It must be because I am reading THIS book, and I hate for people to tell me what to think.  I am going to read THIS book instead. I don't want to be uplifted. Kidding, it's for my book group.

5 days til race day

Thinking it might be wise to make a little effort in these last few days before the big triathlon day I saddled up for a bike ride with my friend Boops yesterday. In the old days before she was super duper buff and while she was still riding a heavy hybrid bike we were perfect cycling partners. We went the same speed. Now however, not to mince words, I eat her dust. She could blow by me going 4 or 5 mph hour faster than me easy, and that isn't even on a hill, where I really suck.

We set off together, and immediately I thought to myself that I was making a tremendous effort to ride, and that I must have lost my own personal very dull edge in the lack of training that happened this summer. If you recall, the one really killer hill of my ride is right in the beginning after about maybe 3/4 of a mile. I approached that hill with a slight bit of fear. I went up to my easy back gear (they are the only ones I usually use) because that is what I do and I still pretty much crawled up that hill. My lungs were burning as I got to the top and Boops was long gone. I turned the corner and pedaled on wondering if going for this ride was a wise idea after all. Boops turned around and came back for me, and I urged her to do the loop without me, and even promised her I would finish if she ditched me, but she stayed with me. I felt bad slowing her down so much. I know how frustrating it can be to have to hold back when you want to go fast. As we pedaled down this mostly flat street I was desperately trying to figure out why I felt so weak. I knew I could have been eating better, but didn't think this was the case. I hadn't gone for a long ride for a week but had done several shorter rides and never recalled feeling so dragged out. It was so hard for me to push forward at a decent speed. I got a little panicked. About a mile and a half into the ride I looked down to see that I was geared all the way down in front, on the big gears, because the last time I rode I was trying to go slow because I was with Evan. A quick flick of my left thumb and I was back in business clickmom style, I was still a turtle, but I was a turtle on coke!

13 days 'til race day- still eating marshmallows

13 days to go until the triathlon, and I take comfort in the fact that there are other athletes (hahaha, I am calling myself an athlete!!) in my neighborhood who are as, umm, unsettled about the masses of women from my town who will be participating this year. Last year, if you recall, Peanut was so swept away by the sheer happiness and personal fulfillment of the whole experience that she made it her cause to spread the word in an effort to share the joys of triathlon with 100 other women from our town. She started by putting up posters and inviting people to attend lectures, and lo and behold, she has way over a hundred women on this master list of women and there are even more who never signed up to be part of the group. These women of the group send out group emails all day long, sometimes close to 20 a day, and all of these women reply to the whole group, no matter how insignificant or personal their emails are. Their emails make me want to vomit. I can't figure out how to get off the list.

The group has their own shirts, shirts for their kids, tote bags and visors. Someone is making sweatshirts. You can guess what I plan on doing to my sweatshirt.

I think it all sucks. The intimacy and thrill of the tri are gone for me. Until this week, I thought that my grouchy unenthusiastic bad attitude was mine and mine alone and I was trying to just kind of get the triathlon over with and take it for what it means to me, which is all about me reclaiming my own health and well being. Then I heard through the grapevine that some people have a new and unique name for the email happy, type A, obsessive control freaks in this group: TRITARDS. Hahaha. Well, as you can imagine that was all I needed to hear, and now every time their emails come pouring in with their "We are a strong able group of women" refrigerator magnet message of inspiration, I laugh and snicker under my breath "tritard".

Then I eat a marshmallow or something and feel all evil and superior to them for having done this triathlon before the wave of mass hysteria hit and decide that maybe I will try to be a bit more enthusiastic about doing the triathlon, just to have a respectable time in case the tritards (hahaha) go on line and check out the times for every one from my town, and see that I have 8 minute transitions and am clearly not trying to work up a nasty old sweat out here on the course. Then I pop another marshmallow in my mouth and think, "Nah, I am just going to take my sweet old time."

excuses, excuses

It just seems to me that the forces of nature (or my own spazziness, as it may be) are against me doing this triathlon, which, oh my goodness I am going to vomit, by the way happens in 19 more days. Today I had the shocking revelation that I could count on my fingers how many times I had gone swimming to swim the distance I will need to swim on tri day. I realized that all summer there was always something going on that had somehow prevented me from training.

First thing I do this summer is knowingly sit on a broken chair, forget that I am sitting on a broken chair and lean sideways to reach something, when the next thing I know I am on the floor, in that nauseous kind of pain, wondering which hurts more, my wrist or my shoulder. It was my shoulder, slightly torn rotator cuff. Hello chiropractor.

A week later, I try to step off a stone wall (a mere 18 inches high) onto a stone patio, and spazziness strikes again, I am on my knees. Ow. Once again, I fight the urge to pass out and simultaneously vomit from the pain to discover that I have skinned both my knees, one thigh, my palms, and an elbow. Go figure. The knees- they are getting way to old for this. They still haven't forgiven me for that time in college when I tried to ski down that intermediate hill when really the bunny hill was where I belonged, because, when you can't slow down, then why try a hill with a deeper incline, y'know what I mean? So, once I reached the speed of light going down that hill I knew the only way to stop was to fall, so I did, and the knees, they popped. That was the beginning of the end. I haven't sat with my legs crossed since.

Anyway, a few weeks pass after the wall incident and I think I am finally 100% again, with my glass half full attitude I suppose I am healed and can begin to get on with the serious training when Evan, who has no respect for another persons personal space and needs to be physically on top of me to be recognized, jumps beside me (while curiously enough wearing his flippers on his hands), except we are on a water trampoline and he falls into me, scraping the flipper down the inside of my leg, causing me to drop down onto the trampoline writhing in pain, and once again, with the sweats and the almost vomiting. This bruise was so deeply internal that it took 24 hours for it to rise to the surface. When it showed itself it wasn't purple, it was black and it lasted for two weeks. It was tough to walk for a few days with a giant pool of blood clotting deep beneath the surface of my inner knee. And it hurt too. Running was out of the question.

Well, I think to myself, I can always do pilates. Hahahaha. Jinx!! The very next time I go to pilates the pilates teacher incorpoates a new move called THE HYDRANT, if you know a male dog, you can figure this one out. The only rpoblem is, I have a funkyhip, to match my messed up knees, and I do THE HYDRANT, and the next day I wake up with some sort of freaky hip cramp that lasts for three days. I can't ride my bike, I fear drowning in the lake from a cramp, so swimming is out too, and that leaves walking, which, well, I am walking not running, how much walking practice could I possibly need? I do not perform that new pilates move anymore.

Then the weather turns, it is cold, Jailbait comes late on the day I am going to put out (exercise wise), the neighbor kids show up when I am going to leave my kids alone and I have to stay, Evan has to go to the dentist, and then the illness that tried to take me down happens and I can't actually breath for 5 days (still have the residual cough), and now the lake is freezing, and it has been raining and pouring.

Then, I go to the grocery store and trip on the curb outside the store, effectively removing the skin from the outside of my calf area while bruising the inner side of my calf area. This causes me to loose two nights sleep since no sheet or blanket and touch my humongous scrape without waking me up.

Then I lean too far over the stove and hit my head on the oversized (it is from some larger previous stove) exhaust hood. Causing blood to trickle down my forehead and a rather impressive bump. It hurts when my hair moves.

19 days 'til the triathlon and today, I walked 4 miles in the pouring rain because it was too cold to swim (high of 63) and too wet to bike. I wonder how bad the weather has to be before they will actually cancel the tri, not that I am hoping or anything.

housecleaning and breathing (or not)

My babe Kitten, the one who inspired me to bike just a little faster, is coming for a visit with her family. I just love having guests, but wonder why I need that kind of inspiration to do a little house cleaning. Seriously, if no one ever visited the neighbors would probably have to report me to the board of health, who might have to end up removing me from my own home, except only after they shoveled a path to clear the way for me to exit. OK, so maybe I am exaggerating just a little, but I do tend to let things slide just a little too far before I get off the couch and then do a whirlwind kind of major clean out. I am sure I could spend a few hours on the couch unraveling that mystery, but I will tell you that I clearly recall early on in the relationship with the husband I informed him that if what he was looking for in a life partner encompassed house cleaning skills he was barking up the wrong tree. It is for that reason , that I have decided that after two summers of toilet scrubbing, sweeping, mopping, and other house hold duties, that when we are finished replacing this island house, I am hiring a cleaner to come in once a week and do the grunge work. I can handle bed making and the day to day (OK, barely... but let's pretend) but toilets? I am willing to open my tight little fist and pay some one else some bucks for that pleasure.

Back to Kitten, I have one concern about her visit. Kitten is doing the triathlon for the first time this year. She is nervous and I am enjoying listening to her nervousness and remembering how freaked out I was at this time last year. Kitten specifically asked me of we could do lots of preparation while she was here, to which I confidently replied in the positive. Since I felt more of myself yesterday I thought for sure I would be 100% today. NOT. I wore myself out grocery shopping. Matt got a kick out of me backing my truck up through the tangle of trees on the island just so I wouldn't have to walk an extra ten feet to unload all the food.

Kitten really wants to swim, and I am still winded from this cough, and Kitten wants to bike, and the thought of the hills around this lake make me want to get into bed and pull up the covers over my head (and naturally fall fast asleep). I know the right thing to do is to continue to take it easy while I recover (I am not well yet, I get this, I am still coughing and my neighbor saw me taking out the trash this morning and said "Clickmom you look... you look ... you look sick.") And if that alone doesn't make me want to run and hide THERE ARE ONLY 24 DAYS LEFT UNTIL RACE DAY. Do me a favor and cross your fingers and hope I wake up tomorrow feeling not bronchially challenged.

sick. shit. sick. shit.

27 days until race day and I am sick! Totally coughing, sneezing, blowing, sick. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Who has time to be sick when they have barely trained for a freaking triathlon and there are only 27 days left to get into tip top shape??? WHY?? WHY??? WHY ME?????

I completely blame Ice Breakers. Ice Breakers made me sick. You heard (read) me, Ice Breakers, the sugar free breath freshening mints they sell in the checkout at the (crappy) supermarkets I am forced to shop here in Utopia made me sick. You see, it goes like this, I have been indulging in the occassional breath mint, and the other day I spotted some sugar free (You know, normally, I do not eat artificial sweetner, but I am up here with no Whole Foods in sight) Ice Breakers sours candy and thought "What a yummy looking treat!" The first day I popped a few (or maybe a few more than a few because we all know I can not control myself around the sweets, even if it is artificially sweet) and they made a sore spot on my tongue. But they were good. Mmmm. Yummy Sour. That night I had an irritated throat.

The next day I popped a few Ice Breakers sours (or maybe more) and put them in my cheeck because my tongue was still sore. I sucked and enjoyed and sucked and enjoyed until I realized that (GASP!) the skin on the inside of my cheek was melting off. I pulled a spot of soft inner cheek skin into my finger tip and swore off the fruit sours. It was too late. I began coughing and coughing. I thought, well, I'll just drink some hot tea and my throat will be better tomorrow. BUT, noooooooo. That night I laid down to go to sleep and the last thing I thought to myself after having a huge coughing attack was "I will not puke, I will not puke." Because that is how hard I was coughing.

Yesterday I started coughing until I had to alternate. Sometimes I pray not to puke, and then I switch over with "Don't let me wet my pants." This morning, it's all about the nose. I have been loading up the Kleenex when ever I need a break from coughing up my spasmy lungs.

I totally blame the Ice Breakers sours. You have been warned.

soothing thoughts on diet and triathlons

What I did this week to prepare for the triathlon:

Monday: treadmill for 1.5 miles, pilates (pilates doesn't count, but I can touch my toes for the first time in a long while woo hoo!)
Tuesday: 4 mile high speed walk with the devil dog
Wednesday: 3 miles on the treadmill, pilates

What I haven't done this week to prepare for the triathlon:

Swim
Bike
Run

Do we see a pattern here? Yes we do. A pattern that says over the winter I got very comfortable doing laps in the swampy Y pool and I really love the 15 mile loop around the real swamp I ride at home. Tomorrow I am going to swim and bike. I have made a promise to myself. I did have a break through in swimming. I figured out how to breathe better. I did swim just a little today, but Josh was with me and well, you can guess how impossible that would be.

Actually, on Tuesday, as I was walking along, I was talking to myself, and I realized a few things. I realized that whenever I say "I can lose XX pounds by XX day." I never do. So, I started to think about it and I realized that in order to keep myself eating well and motivated I need to focus on the present day and not even think about the future. It's all a very 12 step, one day at a time attitude. And this day by day attitude is what has kept me successful every other time I took control of my eating, and I think it can help me regain control now. As I gazed at everything I couldn't eat yesterday, I just told myself "Not today." Today I did the same thing todayand it just didn't seem so overwhelming. "Not today" seems so much more doable than "Never again".

Another thing that occurred to me during this walk was that last summer when I was doing so well, and food was barely an issue, I did little things to make myself feel good. Like using moisturizer on my legs and arms after a shower. Then I realized that this little tender gesture comes in and out of my life. When I am moisturizing I am in control. When I am dry and flaky I am spinning in the wrong direction. When I got out of the shower this afternoon-you know what comes next- I moisturized.

And about the running: It ain't going to happen. I thought that it would be so nice to run and be faster and not have to walk like the out of shape participants, but truthfully, I don't think I can run while this heavy. I think my ankles and knees are just waiting to self-destruct and I can't let that happen before the tri. I will just walk, my skinny babe Kitten is walking and that makes me feel better. I will concentrate on taking fast long strides instead of running. OK, maybe I'll run for a minute or two here and there during the tri, just for giggles, but I won't be running the whole thing. I'm good with that.

Like last year, I am doing the tri just to cross that finish line. I'm not trying to beat anyone or even myself. I know I am healthier and stronger than I was a year ago, and if I am faster, that is nice, but not necessary.

slow but steady is not what the dream was about

According to the Danskin web site there are 34 days until race day.

I am screwed. So screwed.

I did it to myself. Or rather, I didn't do a thing to help myself.

Where did the summer go?

Why haven't I tried a little harder?

Today I went on the treadmill at the gym and did a mile and a half in 22 minutes. I was sweating like a pig and I hadn't even swam and biked before hand.

My dreams of doing so much better for this, my second triathlon are not going to come true. I will be lucky if I can match my very slow time from last year.

In addition to which I have gained some weight back and it is all around my face and in my jelly roll stomach. I am mad at myself for this. And disgusted. I can't bear to look. I feel like I am crazy. How could I backslide?

I got this airbrush tatoo yesterday. I told the boys it represented a legend about this lake. They each got one too. But, you and I know what it means. I might have to get another for race day.

triathlon nightmare #1 for 2006

In last night's nightmare I was ending my triathlon, and to finish we had to run into a room in a hotel and hand off some kind of card to the volunteers waiting there. I was neck and neck with another woman and we were competing with each other not to be last. (Again with the last!! Remember last year?) I handed in my card to one of the volunteers at the desk ahead of the other woman and temporarily found relief not being the last person. The volunteer hand wrote my times on the card. I wasn't supposed to see it, but managed to negotiate a quick view of it. I scribbled the times onto my hand with a found pen only to realize that my times this year were exactly the same as my times last year, including the excessive 8 minute transition time between the swim and the bike. In my dream I was shocked and kept reviewing the times in my head. It didn't make sense because I have been telling myself how even if I am not that much faster this year I can at least shave off a few minutes from that transition time. The total time was precisely the same as last year and every single leg of the tri was the same. I kept staring at the writing on my hand, and could feel this ball of dread growing inside me. I didn't want to see any of my friends. I felt ashamed.

I was so upset and speechless that I looked for my family and went for a swim. We were swimming in a dark water near a cliff and my youngest was my niece instead of Josh and a man was taking her perilously close to someone's fishing line. The man made me nervous. I knew I couldn't trust him. I started to yell to them to stay away from the fishing line coming down from the high cliffs above, but the more I yelled the closer they got until the hook caught my niece in her back and the fisherman started to reel her in, thinking she was a fish. I saw a her skin pull and then a chunk come off and disappear to the top of the cliff. I got her back from the man and had a washcloth to apply pressure to the hole, which was now on her belly. In my head I was worried about the water being germy and was trying to think of what I should put in the hole to kill the germs and wether of not I had a bandage that would be appropriate. She said the wash cloth hurt and when I looked underneath it the hole in her skin it had magically stopped bleeding all on it's own. Then I thought I didn't know how I would explain what had happened to her and felt a dark guilty cloak covering me.

I woke up feeling horrible.

triathlon blues

My enthusiasm for the triathlon is still hovering around zero. I know that part of my difficulty here stems from the fact that Peanut has recruited over 100 women from our town to do this and now it isn't simply about us babes anymore. Yesterday she sent out a group email about a triathlon case in the library and her desire to see 1,000 women from our town at the triathlon. That's it, I am moving.

Every other day women would approach me and ask me if it were true that I did the triathlon. I always chatted it up and encouraged each woman to give it a try. Then I asked a couple of the other babes if they were being approached with questions and they said NO. Then I realized that the conversation around town must have gone something like this:

Stepford Wife A: Have you heard about that triathlon? I think we better sign up for it. Everyone who is anyone is signing up for it.

Stepford Wife B: I'm not sure if I can do a triathlon. I was in much better shape when I was a perky 16 year old cheerleader.

SW A: (under her breath) I heard that clickmom did it! (snicker snicker) If she can do it, then we can do it. (Thinks to self: I better ask that clickmom just to make sure)

SW B: Yeah! If SHE did it then I can do it! (Thinks to self: Holy cow!! Clickmom, that chubby yet adorable outsider did a triathlon? I am going to have to ask that clickmom just to make sure)

SW A: Let's do it!

SW B: Let's start training just as soon as we are through with our pedicures, hair highlighting, hot rock massages and whole body waxes!

SW A: Hold on, I have to eat my lunch consisting of a dorito and three vodka tonics first, then I'll be good to go.

SW B: (Thinking and finger snapping) I'll let the nanny know I need her to iron my designer workout clothes!

SW A: Should we go to the gym in your BMW SUV or my Mercedes SUV?

SW B: The Mercedes matches my tennis outfit, let's take that one.

Yeah, that is what I imagine is going on. Now if Peanut wants to increase the amount of participants by 10 fold, well, I might as well hold a press conference.

"Hi, I am clickmom, I am fat and I can do it."

I don't like this. Boops suggested that maybe next year we travel to another Danskin Triathlon and do it somewhere where we won't know anyone. While I have to admit I am tossing that idea around in my head, (with a suspiciously evil grin on my face) I am also thinking how ridiculous it is to have to run away from the triathlon that is only an hour from our home. Besides, that wouldn't help with the problem of being questioned every other day by folks who can't believe I did it.

I did do some running on Friday before pilates. Yesterday I took the day off and today I am doing a 12 mile bike ride for a local charity here. The catch is I am doing it with Evan so I am going to be going S L O W. I am not sure if going so painfully S L O W actually counts because when I am done I am not spent or breathless or anything. But hey, I get to sit on my bike for at least and hour and if you ask my yin yang sitting on the bike is all just sitting on the bike it: counts no matter what speed I am going. Yin yang will surely remind me for a day or two that I have indeed been riding. Hopefully I can get in a swim later today too.

it's all hot

I really need a boob job. By job I mean reduction, not the other inflated freakish always fake looking way. And, by the way, I don't care if my reduction makes my boobs look too good to be true because 1.I am sure it won't stay that way forever and 2. I never had too good to be true boobs to begin with so I am owed and 3. all I want (what I really-really want) is to be able to go braless with dignity in a heat wave. Is that asking too much? I don't think so. The thermometer here in utopia topped off at 94 today and tomorrow is supposed to even hotter.

Boops spent the night here last night with her kids. I suggested we get up early and walk our respective dogs, then I thought a nice long swim when the babysitter came might be good. We have a triathlon to train for!! Well, we over slept and ended up taking a swim when the baby sitter came and then setting off for a 6 1/2 mile walk, sans dogs due to the length we planned on walking, around the lake at around 10:30. Did I mention it was 94 here today? By mile 4 we were both visually rationing the 2 remaining ounces of warm back wash we had remaining in our respective water bottles. At mile 4 1/2 I had to pee and there was no place to duck into (besides the thought of pulling up sweat soaked tri shorts was just overwhelming) so I figured in preparation for the triathlon, where we triathletes pee as we go, I would attempt a slow release while walking. I discovered that 1. peeing while walking is hard to do 2. my tri shorts do not absorb as much liquid as I thought they did, and 3. let's just say UNCOMFORTABLE. DId I mention it was 94 here today? I was tempted to swim across the lake for the last 1/2 mile or so (anything to get my hot urine saturated shorts into the lake) but the thought of swimming with sneakers on kept me walking.

When we got back to the house I jumped right into the lake with my clothes on (but sneakers off) and peed again. Peeing while on the go is a less than satisfying experience, there was more . It was too hot to do anything but swim. After taking the baby sitter home in the boat (and, I might add, parking the boat on the lift on the first try- go me) I ended up hanging out at the dock with Josh, Evan and Boops' 8 year old. The bigger boys were goofing around in the shallow water, and much to my horror Devil Dog, who had previously feared the water-and that was good with me since she has recently developed a penchant for lying on my bed, went swimming too. She was just too hot to be afraid today and once Devil Dog managed to paddle both out a little and then safely back I could see the light bulb of a whole new world of adventure just light up right on top of her little fuzzy head. She was swimming with Evan and she was happy. I must say, most dogs look kind of skinny and big headed when they are wet but devil dog looked maybe even cuter than ever, and I am not just saying that because I am her mom. It is true, she as extra cute when wet. Now I have to start locking my bedroom door.

It is about 7 hours after my 6 1/2 mile trek around the lake and man-o-man do I need a foot massage.

ok, who stole my kids?

We have been home since Tuesday and honestly, I think I came home with someone else's kids. These kids in my house do nothing but bicker, bicker, bicker, and that's not all, one of them keeps bursting into tears, one has started (gulp) pushing, and the other one, I swear, he hates me. Naturally this has had an inflammatory effrct on my usual pre and current monthly hormonal imbalance and damn these replacement kids couldn't even care less about my own personal brain chemical fluxuations. I wanna run away from home. Seriously, I am tempted. It's just that I know they would find me, so I have to stay or take them with me. Either that or (and I have always thought that this should be universally instituted) we need to have family Benadryl night. I would really like to enjoy these replacement kids when they are awake, but I'll settle for passed out drooling on the couch. Anything to stop the bicker bicker bickering.

In other news, I swam yesterday and figured out why it is that sometimes I get a little panic going and feel like I can't breathe. It is that when I get tired I get sloppy and I don't rotate my body all the way during the breathe. I swam conscious of that and swam much more effectively- even though I couldn't see the bottom.

Today I