Run Bitch Run

Looking for a Repairperson

2012-02-22T15:52:00.001-08:00

I have recently discovered that my "Give a Fuck" is broken. Anyone know someone handy with that sort of thing?

Ok, maybe I did not discover this recently, per se, but as I mentioned my Give a Fuck is broken, therefore I did not really ... well.... give a fuck. But now I have noticed this lack of interest in life has crept into my work world and, frankly, I have a Starbuck's addiction and a high maintenance chihuahua to support and getting canned from my teaching job when I lack any other marketable skills seems, let's just say, ill advised.

Andy Warhol Does Diva Dog

Probably the crux of the 'not giving a fuck' issue is that hubby is facing another health problem. It is one we knew about (actually diagnosed at the same time as the prostate cancer, but since the cancer was an aggressive form that took the forefront), but now after some not so perfect blood test results it is time to start dealing with that.

To say I am not excited about starting another medical saga is akin to saying Whitney Houston had "one too many" before deciding to slip into the tub, but it is not like you can opt to reschedule these shit storms.

I am sure I will cyber-vomit all about the specifics of this at some point, but I just cannot muster the energy to do it right now.

Running (You shocked I have been running? Me too.)

Since this is purportedly a running blog, I suppose I should give an update about that. I am currently training for San Luis Obispo Marathon on April 22 with Team in Training.

I am serving as a team mentor. I won't talk about much about Team in Training here as my blogging style (or really, my entire personality-style) is not really the wholesome, Disney-esque, do-gooder type that Team in Training usually attracts and I have no desire to sully the image of an organization that raises more money annually for cancer research than even the old uni-baller himself, Lance Armstrong ($850 million to $500 million annually respectively), but nonetheless it is what that I am doing. *shrugs* It is an endeavor ol' Beelzebub and I can laugh at when the time comes.

Beelzebub: Dude! Seriously? You thought that weak ass charity shit would offset the rest of your fucked up life decisions and keep you outta here?! HOO! That is rich!

RBR: *sitting permanently posted at the front of a flame filled classroom with unending rows of iPod clad teenagers who only look up from their text conversations long enough to say repeatedly, 'when will I EVER need to know this shit?' and 'This is so gay!' The later of which makes my head spin 360's before exploding*

*after my head regenerates* Whatever, Lord of the Flies, at least my name does not mean 'pile of shit'.

I also have a new run buddy. LA Run Buddy is still my best friend in all of the world, but new babies make things different. I am 42. This is not my first rodeo. Being the childless by choice friend of new moms is, to be frank, fucked up, but she is worth it and this little guy...

MQ at the park

..has kind of stolen my heart. I still do not feel the need to own one of my very own, but he is pretty great ... [qualifier alert] for a baby.

Yes, yes, I am an asshole. We have covered that. Moving on.

Anyhoo... In the tradition of my super distinctive monikers, I shall dub my new run buddy, TNT Run Buddy (I considered 'New Run Buddy', but that was lame even for me). She hates distance running and I hate speedwork. Her job is to help me run faster at track practice and my job is to entertain her during long runs, so that she does not want to swallow her own tongue.

So far we have run up to 13 miles together and she has not leapt in front of traffic to get away from my constant chatter, but she is continually UNimpressed with my lack of anything resembling speedwork at track practice.

Whatever. At least I am running.

A Seriously Belated Race Report: Portland Marathon - October 9, 2011

2011-11-17T13:17:00.001-08:00

Stats*:

Total Distance: 26.85 miles (lot's of bobbing and weaving early on. Totally my fault, but I will get to that)
Total time: 5:42: whatever...like the seconds matter at that point. (Not a personal worst and I did not actually barf up a lung, so we are taking it as a 'win')
Total text messages sent from the course: 10 or 12 (there may have also been an email or two outlining the numerous reasons why this marathon was a remarkably BAD idea, how this would be the last motherfucking one of these things I do, and finally to whom to distribute my meager belongings as I certainly would not survive this, quote, "Goddamn sufferfest.")

*short for 'statistics', which this information really does not qualify as since 'statistics' implies there is some sort of analysis of the numerical data. Alrighty then, for the statistical purists out there, here's some analysis: if you take the total time this run took and divide it by the total distance I traveled, you get a really, really fucking slow ass pace. Voila! Statistics!

Pre-Run

Originally when I signed up to do the Portland Marathon my Run Buddy (whom I have not run with for over 3 years) said she was going to train for and run it with me. However, not super surprisingly, she decided pretty early on in the training that a marathon is, indeed, a very, long fucking way and that she did not want to do that. What can I say? I am drawn to smart people.

Then LA Run Buddy, fresh off the endorphin rush of a 41 hour labor, said that she and her son, who would be at that point five months old, would come up to Portland with me (For the record, I knew that was INSANE and that she was not going to be able to make it. I just let her say it. It is both cruel and futile to argue reality with a woman that just spent 41 hours of grueling labor to only end up being slashed open from stem to stern to remove the baby that obviously had NO intentions of coming out his own.)

Gratuitous picture of MQ aka the cutest baby on the planet!

Needless to say I headed up to Portland without any of my peeps. I was thinking, "This is not my first rodeo. I can run a damn marathon by myself." I was not super right about that, but fortunately I had a last minute pinch hitter that came out from Minnesota to cheer me on. That proved to be very much appreciated as this marathon has been renamed by me from the Portland Marathon to the Piss and Moan Marathon.

The Run

The organizers of the Portland Marathon deemed that anyone that was going to take 6 hours or more to complete their course was a "Walker," which honestly I think is kind of bullshit because other than race walkers I dare anyone to walk a full marathon in 6-6:30 hours. Whatever.

Race day morning, I walked to what I am certain was Northern Seattle to join my peeps in corral W (FYI: The other corrals were labeled A, B, C, D, and E. The 'W ' label seemed somewhat punitive and just to MAKE SURE that everyone knew you were NOT, in the esteemed opinion of the Portland Marathon, a runner. Yeah, fuck you too, Portland)

Helpful Marathon Tip: If you are a runner (albeit a slower than sloth snot runner) and you have been placed in the corral with the ALL of the walkers for a HUGE marathon, get your ass up to the front of the corral. I am so used to seeding myself in the back of the pack that I automatically did so and I spent at least the first 4 miles weaving through and around bands of walkers stretched 5-6 people across, seemingly arm in arm. *sigh* And really, I had no one to blame but myself. I was in their wave and had self-seeded in the very back.

Miles 0-5

Once our corral got in position for them to start us, it took me almost an additional 30 minutes to walk from my place in the corral to the start line. This should have been a clue to me that I was not positioned correctly in this wave, but I milled along in bovine-like bliss until I finally crossed the mat and then spent the next hour or so cursing all of humanity and internally screaming disparaging things about the size of people's asses in front of me that would have, and should have, gotten my very own fat ass summarily kicked had they been uttered aloud.

What I did not know is that this would probably be the most enjoyable part of my run.

Miles 6-11

Yawn.

Like, stab yourself in the pancreas to break the monotony type "Yawn."

Seriously, Portland, change this part of the course. I hate to be critical of a race course, but I have to believe there are more interesting ways to carve out 26.2 miles in Portland. The HAS to be.

This bus was stuck out in the middle of nowhere playing music trying to cheer runners up. Doesn't the man looking up stock quotes on his iPhone look "cheered" up?

Miles 12-16

This section of the run, while not actually the most miserable, was definitely where there was the highest likelihood of my quitting this run.

Race walker that dropped me like a used condom at mile 14. Yeah, it stung a bit.

I have yet to walk off a course, but I will tell you that out on the stretch between miles 13 and 16 I was texting my friend asking "Jesus Christ on a pony, I am only halfway? Just what the fuck do I have to prove? I have run 12 of these damn things!" And telling her I was almost at the point of offering passing motorists sexual favors for a ride back to the finish if she did not come get me.

She did not come get me.

No motorists where propositioned. (To be fair, none stopped. I should have worn a cuter outfit. Lessons learned)

I kept running

well, running-ish.

Miles 17-23

Now, THIS this was the most miserable section of the run. There was a brief moment of happy at mile 17 as I got to run over a cool bridge, but for the most part this section was the type of misery most people associate with running marathons: It hurt, it was boring, I hated EVERYONE, and there was no end in sight.

Cool bridge at Mile 17

At mile 19, there was the first on course food option. They had what appeared to be an 11 year old girl holding handfuls of pretzels out to runners. The poor little thing looked terrified as runner after starving runner practically gnawed off her fingers to get to the salty carbs. For the record, I told her I loved her and that she was my favorite person in the universe. That did not creep her out AT ALL I assure you.

Some kind spectators (and I have to say that the neighborhoods the marathon ran through for miles 18-21 had some really kick ass spectators) were giving out candy corn. I usually hate candy corn, but at mile 18 of a miserable fucking marathon they were sweet, sweet ambrosia.

My only regret is that I had but a mere two hands with which to hold my cache of these tasty delights.

At mile 20, I texted my friend to say, "Sub 6 not going to happen. God help you if you do not have Starbuck's at the finish."

Aren't I a gem? She flew out from Minnesota for that kind of sweetness!

Miles 23-26

If I keep moving forward eventually this damn thing will end.

At mile 25.5 ish I saw a Team in Training teammate who is possibly one of the most goodhearted people you would ever hope to meet. He had finished LONG before and was out cheering on people like my ungrateful ass.

My comment to him as he said, 'Looking strong. You are almost done..." or some such NOT helpful tripe:

"You! Standing there with your medal, all finished and shit, if you really want to help grab that balloon arch and move it closer! THAT would be helpful."

This was about the time when a, at the very least, 75 year old race walker (Yes, I said race walker. Fuckers haunted me at every turn at this damn race) that I had been leap frogging with for the last 8 miles passed me for good. He said, "Gottcha, Girlie!" (It is not a well hidden secret that I am not above taunting and mocking people, young and old alike, in races . We had been bantering back and forth for miles now.)

I tipped my pink, Puma run hat to him and bid him adieu. There was no fight left in this dog. The septuagenarian had won. Possibly a new race low.

Wait, I was once beat by a one armed man in a triathlon swim... 75 year old race walker or one armed swimmer? Tough call.

Anyhoo.... I digress

Eventually, 5 hours and 42 minutes after I started this marathon I finally crossed the finish line. Once I was done. I was done.

Finish line pic that a WAY bored MN Buddy took waiting FOREVER for me to finish. I think she was secretly convinced there was NO WAY it could take me more than 5 hours to finish and ended up waiting a long time.

Usually after a marathon I feel pretty good. I am not really a "Leave it all out there on the course" kind of girl, so I was a little taken aback by the next course of events.

I kind of slept walked through the finishers corral with volunteers wrapping me in a mylar blanket, putting a medal on me, giving me a finishers shirt (nice touch), two additional medals in velvet pouches (WTF? Maybe nix the additional medal things and get some food on the course, just sayin'), I somehow had the wherewithal to grab some baby snickers off the food table (I really think that is an autonomic response for me, similar to breathing. See Snickers. Grab Snickers. Eat Snickers. No conscious control is needed) but as I meandered through the crowds I started to slow WAY down and feel somewhat not ok.

I called my Minnesota buddy and started whining about the location of my Starbucks. Then all of a sudden I had the overwhelming urge to sit down, which I did. On the curb. I was officially D.O.N.E with forward motion for a while. I realized I was bonking. Hard.

I ate the Snickers I had stuffed in my run bra. (Yes, I am the asshole that takes all the Snickers from a candy bowl leaving none for others. Sue me)

Then I felt all sparkly.

Then I was pretty sure I was going to throw up.

My buddy, getting worried, called me and I told her I was sitting on the curb at 3rd and Salmon and to please come get me (with the Starbucks of course). Fortunately, by the time she arrived I started feeling better and did not ask her to carry me back to the hotel, which frankly had crossed Princess RBR's mind. She did have coffee and I told her I loved her and asked her to marry me, which cracked up the lady who had also boycotted forward motion and was sitting next to me telling her husband on the phone where to come get her and that she would like a Starbucks.

It was not my worst race time, nor was it the most undertrained I have gone into an event, but it was my worst attitude during a race and I was unhappy with myself about that.

I do this to have fun. I need to recapture the fun.

So what does one do after a particularly bad marathon? Well, if you are RBR, you sign up for two more!

January 15, 2012 Redding Marathon

April 22, 2012 San Luis Obispo Marathon

I have decided to end all posts with a Lola picture because she is fucking ADORABLE!

Race Report: Moo Cow Half Marathon - September 18, 2011

2011-09-19T09:54:00.000-07:00

Yes, you read that right, I actually did a race. Of course if you have been reading this blog for more than 3 minutes you know that I do not "race" per say. I am a running ~~purest~~ purist (Damn you, SQ! Of course, SQ making me feel stupid is like Kate Moss making me feel fat. Meh. Does not even register)

It is not the competiton that draws this moth to the running flame it is important things like: cute t-shirts, good post race food, and pretty locales.

I rarely, if ever, "race" because when I do it becomes obvious that I will still lose to everyone and that is not good for my self esteem.

Stats

Total Distance: 13.23 miles
Total Time: 2:48:54 (whatever)
Total Climb: According to Garmin 2100 ft (That is too much. Garmin is always wrong, but it was significant. I need to find a good GPS data cleaner. If anyone knows one, please let me know.)

Pre-Run

Thursday my buddy Penny sent out an email saying she had a registration for the Inaugural Petaluma Moo Cow Half Marathon and she would not be able to make it up from LA to run it and she asked if anyone wanted her bib. I had a 10ish mile run on the schedule this weekend that was not super jazzed about running alone and the race has a cute logo, so, yes, I was interested!

However...

Truth be told, for all my f-word slinging, trash talking, bravado I am a rule follower. I would love to say I am one of those devil may care, stand up against The Man non-conformists, but in actuality, if the sign says "Do not walk on the grass" I will not walk on the grass. It is not born of some deep moral convictions, it is because I do not like to get yelled at. Especially when I am wrong.

Anyhoo...

The race said no transfers of registration, so I would have impersonate my friend to get the bib on race day. And that is what I did.

Apparently a cute cow logo will make me throw caution to the wind and become the rebel of my dreams.
I envisioned the woman at the packet pick up shouting IMPOSTER! and two goons clad in Moo Cow gear hauling me away from the table in shame, threatening to call my mother and tell her what a horrible, dishonest daughter she raised.

In reality, the gal handing out numbers at packet pick up could have given two shits if I said I was Oprah Winfrey at registration. As long as the name I said was on the list, she would gladly hand me a number.

Love her. Do not speak ill of Oprah. It only makes me mad.

The rebel high has worn off and I am worried about getting my buddy in trouble. so I am 'pinking' out the number. I am aware that may cost me some bad ass points.

The Run

The temperature was downright perfect, the race was well organized and the town of Petaluma (while smack dab in the middle of fucking nowhere) is really cute and (barring some asshole drivers on the roads, both of the redneck and non-redneck variety) filled with really friendly folk.

Race start. I love the cow print balloons.

There was not as much cow spirit on this course as one would expect. I imagine that is because it was the inaugural race, but there was one group that had the cutest cow ear headbands replete with stuffed cow tails that I did not get in the picture. Boo.

So damn cute! The one dude in this picture was leap frogging with me for the first half and then dropped my ass in the second half. I LOVED seeing his shadow with his cow ears flopping as he came up behind me. It made getting passed (and eventually dropped) a lot easier.

The course was pretty, but not breath-taking, unless you count the 'bovine bouquet' Petaluma is known for.

Horrid example of the pretty, but I find it harder to take photographs on road races. I get all self-conscious and shy. Yes, I said, 'shy.' Shut up.

Requisite picture of cows. Most of them where too far away for any really fun photo ops.

Another fact you should know about the Petaluma Moo Cow Half is that it is hilly. Not trail run hilly, but certainly enough to get your attention.

A couple of these hurt. A lot.

I met a great gal from Santa Rosa that was faster than me, but her knees were shot so she was walking the uphills (what a coincidence! Despite the fact that my knees were fine, so was I!) I do so love that I have to depend on the injuries or abject misery of other runners to get running partners as slow as me in races, but I usually find someone to run with. We ran the second half together and played the "races you have run" name drop game. And were able to come in at 2:48:54. Not a PR by any stretch, but for a last minute, hilly race, the weekend after a 20 miler on concrete and asphalt, and an insane work schedule, I will take it!

Thanks, Penny! I owe you one!

And for your viewing pleasure...

A Lola burrito!

For lack of something better to say...

2011-09-13T21:40:00.000-07:00

I have been at a bit of a loss for words as of late. I am not sure what to attribute that to, but the shitstorm of the last 2 years certainly has not helped. I have wanted to update anyone that cares, or anyone that does not care, but has nothing better to do than read my ramblings, where I have been lo these last 2 months (it has been pretty boring in RBR land, so I thought I would jazz it up with a dramatic interjection. And yes, I had to look up what part of speech 'lo' qualified as because I know almost no one that knows that. )

Life without Lucy

It has been even more difficult than I anticipated. I knew it would be awful and a huge void in our lives. I knew that the loss of her presence would be crushing. I just did not think I would fucking fall apart, but this is not about that.

This is about poor Lola having to step up into some pretty big shoes and, really, the little shit has fallen short on many fronts. (Didn't see that one coming, did ya? You thought ol' RBR had gone soft on you)

She is, however, A-DOR-ABLE!

Areas Ms Lola is just not cutting the mustard:

1. Trail dog: We have given up the ghost. She hates it. She is not suited for it and I am tired of other hikers saying, "Gosh. She looks really unhappy." She is more a 'go to the park twice a day, nap on the couch in between' dog.

Please try to ignore 1. the huge, hideous, 1984, 'dusty rose' sectional couch my parents gave me in 1995 when they could no longer stand it and 2. the fact that I am wearing frog pjs in what is clearly broad daylight.

2. Traveling dog: This role is work in progress and while she loves to be new places, it is the actual trip in the car that is the sticking point. We have even purchased dog specific car seats for her that cost almost as much as the cars they are placed in, so that she can see out the windows. Nevertheless, she whines, pants, and jumps out of her doggie car seat which, sadly, she is attached to, so she ends up pinned next to it by her harness, looking bug eyed, tortured, and like an ideal candidate for the next Sarah McLachlan SPCA video.

Obviously not in the car, but sporting her very best "Save me, Sarah McLachlan" face.

Areas where Ms. Lola has been able to shine, some not so surprising and others downright shocking:

1. Fashionista: I do not have all of her outfits photographed (My photographer is opposed to the dressing of our dog and is passive-agressively refusing to photograph her in her duds. Hmpf!) but here are a few highlights:

Her first sundress.

The little ruffled skirt flounces when she trots at the park. To Die. For. Cute.

One of her three hoodies. Salmon looks a little disapproving. He is a judgmental little fucker.

2.. Hangin' with the girls at the 'bucks: She is all about getting gussied up and soaking up the small dog love at the local Starbucks.

She is a hit at Starbucks.

3. Agility: Yes, you read that right. I signed my prissy little dog up for agility class. It is great for building confidence in shy dogs. She went to her first class last night. When we arrived she was the smallest dog BY FAR. Ms. Lola was a tad concerned and frankly so was I. I figured we would gut out one class and if she hated it we would not subject her to the terror of the wild ass dogs that are good at agility, but I sure as shit would not want living in my house.

Not so sure about this

But after we got started she was a total rockstar! She was the best at circle running and the teeter and we even got a really shitty cell phone picture of her jumping!

She even went over it at the top rung *smug grin*

Marathon Training

Believe it or not I have been running. I did a 20 miler with TNT last weekend and I am getting ready to head to Portland on October 8th! This will not be a fast marathon, but I know I can pretty comfortably finish it. It feels good to be doing distance again, but my consistency is not really where I would like it. Seems like a meager update for a "running" blog, but there you have it.

Weight Watchers

Or as I like to call it my weekly humiliation. Eddy is, as one would have guessed, a total fucking ROCKSTAR at losing weight. I try to be gracious about it, but I tell you it makes me think very bad, very prosecutable thoughts when I step on the scale after he has lost 3 pounds in a week and I have gained after running 26 miles that week and eating my 29 measly ass points.

He has lost 23 pounds.

I have lost 9.6 pounds.

He looks amazing (granted that is a 'win' for me too, but focus people, I am on a rant here.)

I look the same.

I decided to be 100% honest about my weekly trials and tribulations of WW in this graph of my actual weight loss to date. I do this because: 1. I want to give hope to women in their 30's and above that are trying to lose weight and are struggling with the ups and downs of the scale, both deserved and not and 2. I am avoiding grading and an excel spreadsheet is an excellent way to do that. We always hear the end result and say, "wow, that is so great! Why can't I do that?"

What is inspired me to do this was a woman that talked about it taking her 2 years to lose 25 pounds and that she has kept it off for 10 years now. People may be discouraged by that, but as a chronic yo-yo dieter for over 20 years now it sounded, well, real. I have NEVER maintained a weight. I always in the process of losing or gaining. I am not trying to regain some mythical bikini body, I just want to fit in my clothes, be comfortable in my own skin, and stay healthy. So here it is. This annotated graph represents the last 12 weeks and $132 on WW:

Race Report: Golden Gate Trail 1/2 Marathon - July 23, 2011

2011-07-24T23:06:00.000-07:00

*I want to thank everyone for your heartfelt support and kindness at the passing of my beloved Lucy. I have another post in mind to address that, so this will just be a race report. But please know I am very, very grateful to you all.*

For those of you that have missed the old RBR that would religiously do runs that she was wholly unprepared for and had no business running, fear not, she's back.

And yesterday you could find her fat ass huffing and puffing her way up the California coastline at the Coastal Trail Runs' Golden Gate Trail 1/2 marathon.

Details

Total Distance: 13.1 miles
Total time: 3:13:42 (check out the elevation profile Mr/Ms Judgey Pants!)
Total Elevation gain: 2946 ft.

Pre-run

I decided to do this run because Team in Training's scheduled long run was on The Los Gatos Creek Trail which is a very popular local trail that I happen to run or ride on almost every freaking day. The thought of running 12 miles while following the TNT no headphones rule and running alone (since I am a loser and have no friends on the team, but that is a whole number post) did not sound fun.

Especially since, all the while, I would be dodging the nine million other trail users, their double wide baby strollers,

Full Disclosure: Pic stolen from a Stroller Striders website, which is an exercise class for new moms. They are actually very respectful of the LG Creek Trail and do their workouts very early before the crowd hits. The ones that piss me off are the random, double stroller family that usually only has one kid in the goddamn thing and weaves across the trail at the highest traffic times and if you say "on your left" to get them to move over so you can pass they look at you as if you tried to run over their precious spawn.

their dogs on flexi-leads that are stretched to their max across the trail,

This image is actually from the WARNING insert for the Flexi-lead product itself.

and asshat cyclists in their full riding kits that think it is SUPER COOL to ride 25 mph on the fucking bike trail on a Saturday.

This was NOT taken on the Los Gatos Creek Trail and this guy is NOT, to my knowledge at least, an asshat. But I know some others that wear that same uniform in my area that are. Just saying...

So, yes, less than appealing to do a long run there this weekend.

The Golden Gate Trail run was put on by Coastal Trail Runs which is one of my favorite race organizers. Their races are well run, organized, always held in beautiful locations with well marked courses, and they have a high tech shirt option (yes, you have to pay more for it. I am fine with that) and their shirts are cute.

Cinderella, Diablo, and Golden Gate shirts from Coastal Trail Runs

Here were my concerns about this run:

1. A half marathon was longer than my scheduled 12 mile run and, frankly, I was worried about getting the 12 miles done.

2. This is a trail run and all of my training this summer has been on flat roads. I have not run a real trail run in over 5 months.

Heh heh. I am sure it will be fine.

The run

The run start was at Rodeo Beach which is part of Fort Cronkhite in the Marin Headlands. It was cool, and overcast which is almost redundant to say about the Marin Headlands because it is rarely anything but. I met a gal that was running the full marathon and we chatted about local races that we had in common. She is going to do the San Francisco Marathon next weekend.

Me says: Wow. That is cool.

Me thinks: *sigh* I used to be that girl. I am not that girl anymore. I am not even fit enough to run this half marathon.

We head up the trail with pretty views of the ocean

Rodeo Beach. Lots of surfers today. Foreshadowing for the wind we would encounter along the ridge.

We climbed...

Pretty Cove whose location coincided with my need to stop running and stuff my lungs back into my chest so I snapped a photo.

and we climbed...

Those little white dots waaaaaay up ahead of me are people. Current distance traveled: 0.25 mi. Gonna be a long day for RBR.

Just when we thought we could not climb any more, the good people of Marin gave us some help in the form of stairs....

Lots and lots of stairs

I sure hope I at least get to shake hands with God after all of this climbing. I am just saying...

Another lung stuffing moment = another photo op. Not even a mile in yet. Yep, a long, long day.

Then...

Nope, not at the top yet.

More fucking stairs....

RBR Rule: Making the stairs pretty, does not negate the fact that they are still fucking stairs

But after those stairs we were finally at the top of the first climb

Elevation profile. Hell of a first climb in less than 2 miles, don'cha think?

After that climb there was a very nice runnable (read: downhill) section. It was the kind of descent where you kind of forget you are old, fat, and out of shape.

Action shot. Happy to be running not hiking.

It was also one of descents where you forget that you still have over 11miles of trail to go or, you know, you might want to be able to actually walk the next day. (Spoiler: I finished the run, but walking today is not going well)

At the end of the first long downhill we ended up in Tennessee Valley and the first aid station. I noticed some "bees" around the cliff shot blocks and then preceded to get stung. Instantly realizing it was my arch arthropod nemesis: a stupid, fucking yellowjacket! Sadly, my reaction offended one of my fellow runners:

RBR: Ouch! Fuck!

Self-Righteous bystander: My! Such language. What would your mother say? (said in that "joking" tone, that you know means they are not really joking.)

RBR: She would probably deny knowing me (said in same faux joking tone)

Friend of self-righteous bystander: *as she gets stung by yellowjacket* Ouch! Damn!

RBR: *smirks* What would your mother say? *laughs at faux joke number 2*

Self-righteous bystander: *fake laugh or disapproving snort, hard to tell* Well, you have to admit, yours was worse.

RBR: I don't know. I would rather be "fucked" than "damned," but maybe that is just me. *shrugs*

Apparently I took the faux joking too far. She did not want to talk to me after that, but I made an aide station volunteer laugh.

Moral of the story: Humor is in the eye of the beholder. or Mind your own fucking business. One of the two.

Anyhoo... back to the run

Heading back out on the trail we started the second big climb of the day. It was a long, boring fire road that climbed FOREVER and crushed my will to live. But at the top, we were treated with a tree lined trail that, when coupled with the heavy fog, created a mini rainforest trail.

The girl that looks like she is out for a Sunday stroll in this picture beat me. *sigh*

Then later, more of the dense coastal scrub with wildflowers

The fog had come in pretty heavy and the wind was whipping, but it was so beautiful.

Shortly after this picture was taken (around mile 10) I started to suffer in the "how badly do I have to injure myself to get airlifted out so I don't have to run anymore?" way and the picture taking stopped for the most part.

Overall, I am happy with how I ran (and hiked). The distance and difficulty was a stretch for me, but it was beautiful and rejuvenating. There were several miles out there that reminded me how much I really love doing this.

I even had hard earned trail dirt at the end

Don't zoom in too much or you will see my lack of shaving. I was fairly certain that I was not going to get laid on the trail today so I saw no point.

If you are ever in the area and are looking for a great trail to run on I highly recommend this one. There is some hiking involved but lots of runnable sections and the scenery is so beautiful you will almost forget how much the climb hurt. (Click to enlarge)

Coastal Trail Runs always marks their runs really well,so I did not get lost, but I think this park is well marked and with a map you could recreate it. Well, you probably could I couldn't.

Dear Lucy,

2011-07-13T13:16:00.000-07:00

The first time we met I went there to meet someone else.

There was a crowd around him, so I thought I would see what else was available.

You would not even look at me. You only had eyes for her, your foster mom.

I can understand. She loved you first. She took you in, scared, and painfully shy with your 4 newborn puppies. You paid your way, though. You raised two orphan puppies for her. Your tiny little 35 pound frame feeding 6 hungry puppies that would all grow up to be much larger than you. We even met one of your puppies in dog training, remember? He was huge and must have looked like his dad, but his new owners recognized you right off and thanked you for giving them such a beautiful dog to love. Ok, the part you remember is when they gave you Puperoni snacks, but trust me that is why.

That generous heart is why I knew you needed to come live with us. To help make us a family. And that you did.

Lucy's first trip to the beach. She was still not sure about all of this, 1999. We adopted her as a 2 year old. I never got to see her as a puppy. I bet she was adorable. (Picture of a picture, we did not have digital in those days)

Your daddy was so afraid of having a dog. That you would be loud, or destructive, or dirty. You were none of those things. You were always a perfect lady.

Eddy always said, "No way would [he] have a dog in the bed!" Lucy changed that. 2003

He fell so hard for your big brown eyes and the way that you loved so deeply. All the tough guy persona just melted away when he was with you. Unless people were offended that you were not excited to meet them. Then he would tell them, "If you need my dog to validate your worth, you have bigger problems than my shy dog."God help the person that openly did not appreciate you around your dad.

Lucy and her daddy, 2007

You two hiked thousands of miles together. When he took up photography, you became one of the most photographed dogs in the world.

Lucy forgot she was a shy dog in chest high grass. We titled this photograph, "Dog Wild". It was taken with Eddy's first digital camera in 2003

You were his beautiful angel, no photograph was complete without you in it. Our friends may have tired of his constant email attachments showing you in various locales, but they would never admit it. Anywhere we went went that we could take you, you went. The perfect traveling companion. Throughout our marriage we stayed in more hotels with you than without you.

Bodie Ghost Town, Mono Lake. 2009

Yosemite, 2004 (I think)

Coeur d'Alene, ID 2009

Not her first time in snow, but she always loved it. 2008

Then there are the kittens. The plethora of orphan kittens that you helped me raise. Cleaning them, rounding them up, teaching them the rules. Floyd and Autumn still looked to you as a mommy figure although, as grown cats without food on their faces, you found them less interesting.

Lucy, Floyd, and Autumn on vacay in Tahoe. August 2006

Floyd and Lucy, 2006

As was your nature, you weathered the indignities placed upon you because you knew it made me happy.

Christmas, 2007

Halloween, 2002

Halloween, 2005

You aged gracefully and were never sick a day in your life. You bounded off the couch to warn us of the mailman's approach, or to greet us at the door, or to suggest that we go on one of your twice daily trips to the park. You accepted Lola with the graciousness you were known for and taught her the "Give me that thing" game where you would tempt us to take your toy or treat and then run away. You taught her how to go potty on command and where we wanted (no small feat with that stupid chuihuahua). We are forever changed by your time with us.

Now that you have gone my heart hurts so much I try to not breathe. I feel as if I will be crushed by the pain of not touching you again, or hearing you snore at night, or feeling the overwhelming show of love you gave with your happy dance and "Owwww Ooooo oooooh" greeting us when we come home. But if that is what I owe for the almost 13 years I was allowed to love and be loved by you, then it is worth it. Quite a bargain, actually.

Goodbye, my love. You will be forever part of who I am.

I love you and thank you,

Mom

**Lucy became suddenly ill on Friday night. Early this morning, after four days in the hospital, and the very best diagnostics and care by Lucy's veterinarian, (who loved her almost as much as we did. He is my old boss, and let me bring her to work at the hospital everyday for 2 years when we adopted her. He has been her doctor since day one) and the local emergency animal hospital, we had to do what was right for our girl and let her go.

Taking one for the Team

2011-07-05T17:15:00.000-07:00

When my husband went on Lupron as part of his prostate cancer treatment, we knew that weight gain was almost inevitable. If you take a 55 year old man and drop his testosterone to zero, he is going to put on weight. Over the last year he put on 30 pounds and he has been very unhappy about it (Don't even ask how I, who am a full 7 inches shorter than him, gained 20 pounds in the same time frame while NOT on Lupron. Whatever.)

Now, I married a big man. Not fat, but big. (And, if I may crow a bit, I married an extremely hot man.) I have never been particularly attracted to 'willowy' men, and still think he is hot as hell even with the extra weight.

Meh.
I am old school when it comes to men; I want the man that can slay the dragon, not run away from it real fast.

Prostate cancer and prostate cancer treatment is hard for men. It not only makes their mortality a reality for them, but its after effects can make him feel like less of a man and less attractive as a man. As his wife, I would prefer that I be the one that helps him feel more attractive as opposed to some other woman. Just saying...

So even though I have all but given up on the thought that I can lose the weight I have been trying to lose since I hit puberty (Funny how the total number of pounds I want to lose stays the same, but the final weight that loss will result in keeps creeping up as I get older. I think that is because, as I age, the weight at which I look down at the scale and say, "Fucking hell! I cannot possibly weight that much!" increases.) Anyhoo... to show him that I was supportive I suggested to him that we join Weight Watchers together.

Those eyes and that half smile still make my knees weak.

Some of you may be thinking, "That is so sweet!" Others, know that men lose weight faster and more easily than women and think that a head-to-head weightloss program with their husband sounds like slow dance through hell. I certainly fall into the latter camp, but he has always been very supportive of my weightloss attempts and I owe this to him.

I have been either losing or gaining weight for 20 years. I have NEVER maintained a weight. I am tired of it. I am tired of counting calories, fat grams, carbs, etc. I am tired of being on a weightloss program period, but this one is for him and he is certainly worth it.

Of course, as I told a friend a while ago, if he comes out of this and has some sort of "I am alive! I survived cancer and I want to live my life!" type crisis and leaves me for a 20-something year old Pilates instructor, the weightloss will still be a good thing because there will be less of him to dispose of.

If I am going to pick a picture to represent my husband's hypothetical bimbo you are damn right she will have bad hair and hideous roots.

We just finished our first week and so far so good.

My Humble Apologies to the Washingtonians

2011-06-27T13:51:00.000-07:00

This past week hubby and I went on our annual journey to Puyallup, WA to visit the in-laws. Now, if you have been reading for a while you know that these trips have not been so FAB in the past. And on our last trip I said some not-so-nice things about the Washington State Park System, their questionable trail sign polices, and the general fucked-upness of their maps (Ok, 'fucked-upness' is not a world, but it should be)

On this trip, we decided to mix business, in the form of familial obligation, with pleasure, in the form of a trip to the Quinault Rainforest that is a part of the Olympic National Forest in western Washington. It is "one of only three coniferous rainforests in the Western Hemisphere" according to the website and only about 2 hours from the in laws.

So nice to have a talented hubby :)

We stayed at The Lake Quinault Lodge (whose claim to fame is the fact that Franklin Roosevelt stayed there, like, a billion years ago and all the of towns children dressed up as "Indians" - meaning Native Americans not people indigenous to India- very few of whom were actually Native Americans 'cuz that is how we rolled in the non-PC 1930's, BUT nine months after his visit he did sign a bill that created the Olympic National Forest and saved this area from falling prey to overlogging, so maybe I should not be so snarky) which was as beautiful and relaxing as I could have hope for.

Frankie D and the little indians, circa 1937

The main lodge. FYI - We stayed in the Lakeside rooms. I am not so much of a 'share a bathroom with total strangers' girl.

View of the Lake Quinault from the back of the lodge.

Driving around serene beauty of Lake Quinault surrounded by the dense greenery of an old world rainforest, I could not help but think, ...

"What a great place to dump a body!"

The 'unwanted organic material' would be reclaimed by this natural wonder in a week, tops. Just saying....

What? That is not your first reaction when faced with the staggering natural beauty of a dense, moss covered rainforest? Whatevs.

Anyhoo..

I decided to run my long run (on the schedule was 6-8 miles) on Thursday, so I could run it in the rainforest all mystical woodnymph style, so I asked the gal at check in for a trail map.

Is this not the most Mickey Mouse piece of shit map you have ever seen?

Christ, even our local Happy Hollow Zoo has a more descriptive map and, unlike Olympic National Park, you can not wander for days in Happy Hollow Zoo without finding another warmblooded life form (other than cougars apparently, for which there were signs warning of "many recent sightings" and helpful tips how to 'scare' off the predator. Sadly, one of those tips is not to "piss your pants and cry like a little girl", since I am certain that would be my reaction upon 'sighting' a real live cougar )

The list of what to do was below. Sadly, an hour later when alone and hearing "strange noises" from the forest this is all I remembered of the sign. Something about ... "looking big, and fighting back"

I was convinced that I would be hopelessly lost in the rainforest and found years later living amongst the ferns, eating beetles, and braiding my leg hair to pass the time. But, in true RBR style I headed out on the run anyway.

Beginning of the Run: Cautiously (or foolishly) optimistic

The trail started out running along the edge of the lake

and then headed inland to wind along through the forest.... (scenes from the trail)

Single track through paradise

The sun came out at a rare clearing in the forest overstory. I experienced both springlike sun and heavy rain in this 2 hour run. It was really the perfect run.

Please note GIGANTO tree, please ignore GIGANTO ass

There were many bridges and waterfalls along the way. I was having such a great time I was 3 miles in and 2000 ft up before I realized I forgot my iPod. Yeah, it was THAT beautiful and fun out there.

They even had a wooden pathway over a bog. I always forget the difference between a marsh, a swamp, and a bog, so now you have to learn it again too!

In a nutshell, they are all poorly drained depressions with a think growth of water plants where the water level remains above or at the soil line. Swamps and bogs have trees, whereas marshes do not. Bogs are found in coniferous forests, but swamps are characterized by deciduous trees.

My bog picture, which sucks because you can not see the coniferous trees that tell you it is a bog. Whatevs. I looked it up after the run. Sue me.

I had planned to run 6 to 7 miles depending on how I felt, but I was having such a good time that I did not want it to end and I ended up running just over 8 miles. I am not in good enough shape for an 8+ mile trail run, so it was beyond slow, but totally worth it.

5 miles in, channeling my inner wood nymph. Just call me Hamadryades

Ok, so the real Hamadryades was a tad hotter and a shitload scarier.

There were signs that contained the full map at every junction that clearly marked where you were on the trail (yes, like you see at the mall)

Note that they had to amend the "You are here" marker, but still very helpful once that slight confusion was cleared up.

As I was finishing up my run, I started to remark to myself, (Shut up. I was the only one there, who else would I remark to?) "There is virtually NO WAY to get lost on this trail. Only a fucking MORON would get lost on this trail!"

So you can imagine what happened next...

Yep. I am the fucking moron that could get lost on the only single track that ran through the rainforest.

Here is how it happened. I ran along until I spied a rest room at a camp ground that I was certain I had seen before, I briefly left the trail to use the facilities. When I came out and could not for the life of me figure out where to go. After a few false starts that dead ended or had me heading back out to the rainforest instead of toward the lake, I stood in the center of the camp ground parking lot, slowly spinning in a circle trying to figure out which way went back to the trail. Until a kid at the wordly age of 9 came up and asked me what I was doing:

Know-it-all 9 yo: What are you doing?

RBR: I am trying to find the trail back to the lake

Know-it-all 9 yo: *snickers* There is only one trail [I think the little bastard rolled his eyes too, but I am not certain]

RBR: *weak smile* I know, but that one goes back to the rainforest.

Know-it-all 9 yo: Ummm... what if you go that way?

*points to the ground behind the restroom where, to my horror, I see this....*

RRR: *mumbles inappropriate things for 9 year old ears* Ummm.... thanks

*snickering from smug, nine year old continues as I run down the trail*

So there you have it. I can no longer blame Washington, nor it's fresh-from-Walt-Disney-school-of-cartography map makers. It is me. I can truly get lost anywhere.

But it was a great run :)

* Photo credits (that are painfully obvious, but need to be pointed out anyway) - The over or under exposed, blurry, or just generally crappy photos are mine. The pretty, professional looking photos are hubby's. Here is a link to his photos of Lake Quinault: http://erader.zenfolio.com/p726862123 if you are interested in seeing more of the area. The painting of Hamadryades is from some weird ass LARPer site that may or may not have a virus, so I am not linking to it, but it was my favorite wood nymph picture.

Back at Baylands, Baby!

2011-06-18T21:13:00.000-07:00

Today was my first run back out at one of my favorite places to run, Baylands Nature Preserve.

This place makes me happy

On the schedule was an 'on your own' run and this is a recovery week, so we were told to run between 2-4 miles. I decided on a 4 mile run since I joined the team late.

Thursday's 3 mile midweek run was in a word, fucking miserable. Oops. That was two words. My bad.

I know that the return to running outdoors from the treadmill is always hard. I also know it hurts a bit when you up your weekly mileage by like 200%. If you add to that the additional, ahem... "donut damage" I inflicted on myself during my running laziness, and it becomes downright painful, and not pretty to watch. I was hoping that by returning to one of my favorite running spots I could offset some of the pain.

I was right. Sort of.

My white pelicans were there. Shitty picture, but cool birds.

This time I ran along the single track trail that goes closest to the water, so I could watch my feathered friends.

Pretty day out there...

Now you may have noticed that it was a nice, bright, sunny day. You may have also noticed my bright, butt-white, winter skin shining in that bright sunny day.

That lead to my first flesh tank top of the season

Molly Melanoma at your service.

It was slow,

Calling this run slow is like calling Lady Gaga odd, it is a massive understatement

but it was really great to be out there again. I almost felt like a runner again.

Now we don our gay apparel.....

2011-06-12T09:33:00.000-07:00

Alternative title: She's Baaaaaaaa-ack!

Pink Run Hat? Check!

I had to make a more major commitment to get myself moving for more than 3 miles at a shot on the treadmill a few times a week, which has been pretty much the totality of my running for the last 5 months. I decided to rejoin Team in Training (yes, G, the tranny shot was just for you) for a third season to train for the Portland Marathon in October.

I could not get back into my running and I could either tell myself that it was ridiculous that after so many marathons I could not train on my own (which just results in me feeling bad about myself and STILL not running enough) or I could get some help. I chose to get help from a group that has worked for me before and that raises money for a great cause that I believe in. So there it is.

On Saturday, I ran 5 miles, outside without stopping. I was really proud I could do it. It has been a long time since I have gone that far without walking. I did not want to write that because I was getting caught up in where I have been previously with running. Didn't I run a 50K last October? Who gives a shit about 5 miles?

I do.

I have always believed you have to take your wins where you can get them. You start from where you are, not where you were, or where you want to be. I have done some pretty cool (and frankly shocking) long distance running. Does that mean I do not get to be proud of myself again until I run 35 miles? Fuck that. I am more of an instant gratification girl. I would rather be proud now.

Ok, so RBR, where the hell have you been?

I won't spend a bunch of time making excuses for why I have not been posting, but I will show you one major reason:

Introducing Michael Quinn!

Obligatory Baby Stats (which no one really cares about, but you have to post because, duh, 'obligatory')

Born: April 28 at 1:15 pm

Weight: 9 pounds 1.5 oz (that is 4.13 kg for our Canadian friends)

Length: 21.25 inches

Method: C-section a mere 41 HOURS after her labor was induced.

Yes, you read that last part right. 41 fucking HOURS after her labor was induced, young Michael who was already two full weeks passed his due date, had to be ripped from her stomach in a procedure reminiscent of ~~Luke Skywalker's~~ Han Solo's evisceration of the ~~Ton Ton~~ Tauntaun in Star Wars. (UPDATE: strikethrough edits due to Joja Jogger's superior Star Wars knowledge database. Umm... I am not sure I would around bragging about that one, darlin' :) )

Ok, this is an actual groom's cake for a wedding. It brings up so many questions, not the least of which is, "who the fuck would marry a guy that insisted on a cake with a dude entwined in a fictitious creature's intestines at her wedding?"

LA Run Buddy is now the poster child for birth control, adoption, abstinence, or selling your children into slavery. God help the little bastard if he ever forgets Mother's Day. I am just saying... It was horrific.

He is cute though. Here is the He-baby sucking 'em back at the local Starbucks.

A brief observation about newborns from RBR

Titled: "Shit a new mom can not say about the reality of newborn babies without sounding like a monster, but RBR can say because she is already known to be a bitch."

Newborn babies are patently NOT fun and they are not nearly cute enough for how unfun they are. They scream a frantic "Help me I am dying and your incompetent ass can not figure out what I need to save me, you worthless excuse for a mother" scream.

They do this ALL. THE. TIME.

Before feedings, after feedings. Before, during, and after diaper changes. (For the record, when the nurses came to give him two vaccines, and gouge out a chunk of his little pink heel to get blood samples, Master Michael did not make a peep. Four minutes later when his exhausted and loving parents tried to change his diaper he let out a wail that had even his grandmother dialing child protective services. Fucker.)

Then there is breastfeeding. I am sure that all of the readers that do not have children believed, like myself, that you put baby on boob, baby eats, take baby off boob. Simple dimple, right? I mean, it is a basic mammalian function for Christ's sake.

Uh, no. That is NOT how it works. How it works is that two nurses and a lactation specialist are required to teach mom and baby how to nurse. Seriously? Teach a baby to nurse?! No wonder there are people that do not believe in evolution. And this teaching process is not a one shot deal. You fight with the little sucker (pun not in intended, but I had already called him a 'fucker' and it was funny so I left it) for like the first couple WEEKS of his life to get him to eat enough to NOT DIE. Oh and you know the thing about boobs? They do not have a neat little measurement tool on the side to tell you how much Junior has actually eaten so he could look like he is nursing away and actually not get enough nutrition to sustain life! No pressure, Mom! You know what has a nice little measurement tool on the side and is VASTLY easier for the baby to get milk out of? A fucking BOTTLE! *gasps of horror from all the crunchy granola, midwife loving, birthing tub advocates*

CGMLBT Advocates: Bottles are the devil! It destroys the mother child bond! It gives them 'nipple confusion'

RBR: He just spent 43 weeks in her stomach, she controls his access to food and shelter. And later a cell phone plan with an adequate amount of texting allowed. The bond is fucking fine. Let's not starve him now. And nipple confusion? Maybe if he is that stupid that is something we should know now.

Sorry, but goddamn. Watching my best friend fall apart and feel like a failure as a mother because he could not latch or he lost more weight than he should, and having each feeding take one and half to two hours when feedings are two hours apart (meaning she had to start over almost immediately after finishing the last feeding) was awful.

He is better now. Still not what you would call 'fun', but everyone says that is on the horizon. I will believe that when I see it.

It is an honor just to be nominated....

2011-04-23T10:05:00.000-07:00

And the Teacher of the Year award goes to....

NOT RBR!

*the crowd goes wild*

This was my fourth nomination in 11 years of teaching.

I have never won.

Yep, I am the Susan Lucci of my school's 'Teacher of Year' Award.

Susan Lucci played Erica Kane on All My Children for 41 years. She was nominated for an Emmy 18 times before she finally won in 1999. She started on the show at 24 years old. I had to check my math on that, like, three times. Holy Shit! I certainly hope she had cosmetic surgery to look this fucking good at 65. If not, we know who you will find perched next to Satan ruling Hades.

I will be honest two of those times there were such more deserving teachers that even I voted for the winners (Ok, if I am REALLY honest the guy that won this year really deserved it, but you know what? I voted for my fucking self anyway. Sue me), but one of those years I lost to a complete ass wipe and that one still stings.

That particular Teacher of the Year is now a low level administrator at my school. All of his gratuitous ass kissing garnered him the worst gig in administration. Even I can make his life miserable and I have about as much juice in the educational hierarchy as the dude that repaints the panther logo on the front of the school during the summer. So, at least I can bitterly cling to that. *smirk*

The real reason I want to win is that they give you a "crystal" apple that is engraved with 'Teacher of the Year' and your name. It sits on your desk, quietly and unobtrusively telling all that see it that you rock and they can just suck it. It is like a marathon t-shirt that you can 'wear' on your desk everyday.

Sorry if that offends you. If you were thinking that I was not shallow or vain you have not been reading this blog very carefully.

It probably cost $20 and is mass produced in some third world country by enslaved children, but I do not care. I want one, damn it.

Random musings in lieu of any real news:

1. I am considering doing a nutritional "detox" to clear out the remnants of 2010 (IMHO, it is a lot of voo doo BS with a small dose of science thrown in, but at least the one I am considering won't hurt me. Carefully check out any of these 'cleansing' products or programs. Anything that makes you shit neon green 15 times a day for 10 days is NOT good for you no matter what the Barbie doll on the infomercial says)

I also want to cut back on the overly processed so called "white" carbohydrates that I adore so much and that make up at least 90% of my diet.

I am a carbivore of the highest order. Supposedly cutting the amount of carbohydrates (esp. highly processed carbohydrates, like say Hostess pies and Lorna Doone cookies...) in your diet helps regulate blood sugar, fat accumulation (nerdy literature link on fat cell maturation), and level out moods (More nerdy links 1. CHOs and brain chemistry 2. CHOs and depression (specifically SAD) .

At this point, I am willing to bite the head off a fucking chicken if it will help me shake even some of the batshit crazy off of me and, hell, if I can shave a few pounds off the ol' derriere in the process, win/win.

2. I am sick to fucking death of the Pseudoephedrine Law. (Pseudoephedrine (PSE) is the only nasal decongestant, short of mainlining epinephrine, that works worth a a shit. It is an essential ingredient (in my opinion) in cold and allergy medicine.) This law was tacked on to the Let's take away all civil liberties under the guise of "protecting freedom" Act (also known as the Patriot Act). It's goal was to fight the war on methamphetamine production (PSE can relatively easliy be converted into methamphetamine. I say 'relatively' because it takes some pretty serious chemicals and heat to accomplish this and you can be assured that anytime you hear an explosion in a trailer park it is some meth freak vaporizing himself and his miserable existence off the planet. To wit I say. "good fucking riddance")

Anyhoo.... this law limits the purchase of PSE to the equivalent of ten 24 hr pills per day and up to thirty 24 hr pills for a month AND makes it so you must go to the pharmacy counter to get it. This means that I have to return to the pharmacy every 10 days, stand behind 754 old people (I am sorry, that was not very PC, I mean 'youth challenged' people) that are complaining to the pharmacist about the price of hemorrhoid cream to get some goddamn decongestant.

I am the reigning Snot Queen. I often need more than one 24 hour pill to continue breathing all day. I can currently buy Vicodin, Oxycontin, and Viagra without a prescription easier than I can get 'over-the-fucking-counter' allergy medicine.

The meth dealers, by the way, are still churning out meth as fast as they make toothless zombies of their clientele. They just have to be sneakier about it and that raises the price of meth. I am sure that won't effect crime rates at all. When drug addicts need money for drugs they always find legal ways to do it, right?

I wonder how effective meth is for congestion? I bet I can get a month supply of that in one purchase. Fucking assholes.

Lola Update - Trail Dog Project: Day 1

Ok, so maybe my prissy, little chihuahua mix is not the most logical choice for a trail dog. On Sunday we attempted our first trail "run." Run is a bit of an over statement, and from her first tentative steps off the sidewalk onto the uneven trail, her face looked like this:

"For the love of all that is holy, please pick me up!" -Lola

Her new campaign slogan for Couch Dog of the Year: Lola! Shorter than grass!

Then she would occasionally stop dead in her tracks in an attempt to make it all end. Unfortunately my tiny canine friend did not pay attention in physics class, because her 5 lb ass was no match for my *mumble mumble* pound ass.

Momentum = mass • velocity

My velocity may not have been for shit, but my mass more than made up for it. This caused her furry little body to skip along behind me, her ears pinned back in a petulant pout. On a downhill section I even got a little 'yip' as she was jerked back into motion by her harness.

Rough day for Lola.

"Can we go home now? My stories are on." - Lola

Some pictures from the family outing to the beach

"Sand smells. Pick me up now." -Lola

"Still hate her. In case you were wondering." - Lucy

One last bit of non-news

We had some issues with the hair. This is the new me for a while at least.

The blond streak is natural from a scar on my scalp. It does not take color well and we were trying to just cover up some really fucked up issues and protect it from further damage. I was not intentionally going for the Lilly Munster look. Upside, I have finally stopped gasping in horror when I see myself in the mirror and I have not cried about it since, well, yesterday.

20 years is a long f-ing time

2011-04-03T17:58:00.000-07:00

Let us escape to the 4th dimension so I can jump around wildly in time.

*shaky camera focuses on lame spiral while the hallmark 1960's-going-back-in-time-'doooo dooo dooo' music plays*

It is March 31, 2011

OK, I will give you that it is lame to go back in time for just a few days, but I had NO time to write and you, dear reader, got to dust off your white go-go boots and hear the 1960's time machine 'doooo dooo doooo' music, so quit your bitching.

In my ten year old mind I looked like Nancy Sinatra in my go-go boots,...

but in reality I had more of a Miss Piggy thing going on. Whatevs.

It is important that this post be written on that exact date because March 31, 2011 is the day I celebrate 20 years clean and sober.

Side Note: Feel free to skip my self-congratulatory, mental vomitus and go to the end of this post. There is an announcement that you DO NOT WANT TO MISS.

I will not go into a long, sappy monologue about how my life used to be and how much it changed over the time I have been clean (I did that last year for my 19 years if you are really interested) instead, I wanted to contrast my life today to the last time I celebrated this particular birthday.

Yes,that means you have to get back in the time machine. Get a move on, please...

Time Machine from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, circa 1989. This came out two years before I got clean so, yes, I was high as hell when I watched it. That is pretty much the required mental condition to endure any Keanu Reeves film anyway.

So March 31, 2010...

My husband had recently been diagnosed with aggressive prostate cancer, he had just started on hormone deprivation therapy (essentially chemical castration to stop the progression of the cancer cells), he was depressed and scared, and I was so terrified I thought I would lose my fucking mind.

Then 2010 started to throw me curve ball after curve ball. The one downside to having wonderful people in your life that you love so much it makes you feel like your heart will stop is that when something bad happens to them you actually give a shit. That is painful and I am not a fan of feeling pain or most of the emotions associated with fearing for a loved one.

I would love to tell you that I trudged bravely through all of the events of the last year with warrior-like stoicism, but, truthfully, I was a mess. Just a hot, fucking mess. I was closer to throwing it all away this time last year than I had ever been in the 19 years prior.

I have many people, including many that read this blog, to thank for helping me scoop up that hot mess, put it in a bag, and keep moving forward. Through this we both found that we had been taking a lot of things for granted and recommitted to both each other and the thing that made all of the rest of our life possible and eventually, and yes, I am sorry to say it, but 'one day at a time', (it is ok for you to roll your eyes. I do when I hear that cornball cliche) I got to today. Today is pretty goddamn good. It ain't perfect, but it is pretty goddamn good.

Today on March 31, 2011, hubby has completed treatment, is doing well, and is slowly getting back to where he feels like his old self. The rest of my friends and family are healthy and happy. My best friend in all the world is going to have a baby sometime very, very soon.

And me? I feel like the 6-ton elephant that was sitting on my chest has finally moved off. He will occasionally stand in the middle of the room as a reminder that we have still some major stuff going on, but at least I feel like I can breathe again.

I searched for images of 'elephant on my chest' and this came up. It never ceases to amaze me what idiots will have permanently inked on their skin.

"Give me a call in 15 years, Sweetie, when that elephant looks more like a giraffe."

All in all, I had a great birthday and celebrated with friends. They even got me my favorite cake (Yes, Jo Lynn, I know owe you one of these cakes. I swear someday I will get you one!)

From Aki's Bakery in San Jose. It is white cake with whipped cream frosting and fresh strawberries and whip cream in the center. It does not sounds like the over-the-top decadent you have grown accustomed to on Run Bitch Run, but believe me it is SCREAMIN' !!

Ok, back in the time machine for the for the BIG news...

Now we are back at Tuesday, March 29, 2011.

I would like to introduce the newest member of our family

LOLA!

This was taken about 15 minutes after we adopted her. I look like shit on a stick. Taking pictures of a nervous, wiggling puppy with piece of shit Palm Pixie cell phone camera, was harder than you would think and I imagine you think it would be pretty hard. I had to kind of squish her and it is still blurry. I have lots of shots of the car seat and the side of her body if you want to see those.

She is a ~1 year old chihuahua mix that we adopted from STAR Rescue. (I found her by searching on Petfinder.com. An easily searchable website that rescue organizations and shelters from all over the country can advertise their pets available for adoption on for free.) We do not know much about her life before she ended up in rescue, but she was on the street and did not do well in the shelter and a very kind woman named Elizabeth from STAR Rescue came to foster her.

Steppin' out at the park this morning.

She is tiny (MUCH smaller than I ever thought I would have. 5.25 lbs.) she is a little shy, but I will make a trail dog out of her. This weekend I focused on letting her settle in and we went to the park twice a day, and to an event held at Downtown Dogs called a Small Dog Social. (yes, I am one of THOSE people. When anyone asks, "Who spends money on shit like that for their dog?" I am that 'who'.)

Hanging with her big sister, Lucy. I LOVE Lucy's body language in this picture. I put her in a stay and that stance is how she could technically be in a stay to get her treat and still be as far away from the puppy as possible.

The Small Dog Social was a lot of fun and I was really proud of how well Lola did. We will go back next weekend. I am also going to take her out on the trails either this week or next weekend and start getting her used to running with me. So expect puppy pictures ad nauseum. I am also checking out different dog trainers and we will start puppy classes on April 20th.

I had minor surgery last week, but it was enough to keep me off the treadmill. I am going to try my first run tomorrow and see how I am feeling. The next run I am planning on right now is the WildCat 1/2 Marathon on April 30.

Recent things that made my heart happy

2011-03-17T04:10:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the truly amazing things and people in my life. I did absolutely nothing to deserve any of it. As a matter of fact, for a good portion of my life I actively campaigned to ensure that my life would be as miserable as possible, but nonetheless, there are times when I get that 'almost can't breathe' feeling that I recognize as my soul smiling.

I always felt that Charles Schultz captured pure joy in this image. Yeah, yeah, it is corny. Bite me.

1. The sound of my husband and dog snoring in stereo. It is a safe, content, reassuring sound.

(Ok, in the interest of proving that this post is not the work of some pollyanna hacking RBR's blog and blowing smoke up your collective asses, this particular "appreciation" is situational. There are times when that sound makes me I want to shove my fingers up his nostrils until he thrashes violently awake, but tonight it is a safe and reassuring sound.)

2. This post.

Even if you could give two shits about the Phillies, and I certainly fall into that camp, your soul is just a little dead and, really, you may be a fucking sociopath if reading that post does not make you misty eyed and restore your faith in humankind.

3. It is looking more and more like R is going to graduate. He tries to act like he is not proud and it is no big deal, but his little boy smile belies that. I can't talk when he does that. It makes a lump in my throat.

I have never written about R and will only do so in an abstract way now, but he was in my class three years ago and is now a senior. He is one of many of my students that got dealt a crapfest of a hand in life. High school graduation was never assumed for him. It was never viewed as the insignificant stepping stone to college as it was for me and many other people. He wears the uniform of the apathetic, thug-ish teen, but underneath that scraggly-ass ponytail, oversized black sweatshirt, and absurdly sagging jeans, is a really great human. I am already stocking up on Kleenex. I am going to be a blubbering mess when that kid crosses the stage to Pomp and Circumstance. He will be the first in his family to graduate from high school on time, with a full fledged diploma (not a GED), no children, and no (significant) police record.

4. The pink rhinoceros/dragon thing that sits on my desk and Eddy bought me at the grocery store that was trying to offload leftover Valentine's Day crap.

He does not realize that he bought it for me on our 20th anniversary. He just thought it would make me smile. I like having someone that thinks about me like that. I also like the thought of my bad ass, tattooed husband walking through the store carrying a pink rhinoceros/dragon thing. (In his defense, our 20th anniversary date is a tad arbitrary and was hallmarked 20 years ago by being the day I left the guy I was seeing for Eddy. I viewed men like jobs, you do not live the old one until you have a new one. I know, tacky. Lighten up, Mr/Ms Judgey-pants, I was 21.)

5. Tuesday I had one of those effortless, completely pain-free runs.

It was not far, it was not fast, it was even on the fucking treadmill, but it was a 'I can run like this forever!' run. Glorious. I needed one of those. I call those runs the 'first crack hit' of running. For those of you that do not smoke crack (*eyeroll* Squares!) the first crack hit is the only good one (from what I am told) and it is what keeps addicts chasing the high. After that, you start to suffer holding on to the delusion that if you keep doing it you will feel that way again (and subsequently, you blow your rent money, your kid's college fund, 75% of your brain cells, start bargaining with your dealer about how much he will give you for a kidney.... you know, every hobby has its price)

Ok, enough of that, I am even making myself a little ill.

The vile, the verminous, and the vacuous*

2011-03-08T11:49:00.000-08:00

The little bastards got me sick again. I have only been sick once this year, and being as how high school teachers are second only to pre-school teachers and inner city needle exchange program volunteers in their exposure to an inconceivable number of pathogens, that is a bloody miracle (RBR now swearing in multiple dialects!).

However, I feel as if I must add, my snottastic self may be why I did not run this morning, but it is NOT why I have not run in a little over 2 weeks. I did have gum surgery which was, in a word, FUCKED. (Shut up, G) But I am not sure why I have not run other than that.

Therefore, in the interest of getting my famously, fat fanny*: 1. less fat and 2. back out on the trail where it belongs, I thought I would out my lethargic self (Again, shut it, G) on the old blog since it is here gathering dust.

In lieu of running, I offer you randomness...

Things I wish I had said recently....

1. "Wait, let me stop your blowing sunshine up my ass. If you are complimenting me as a way to segue into asking me to be on any committees, advisory councils, development boards, working groups, or planning boards the answer is...

...NOT ON YOUR MOTHERFUCKING LIFE!

But thank you for thinking of me."

What I actually said was: Sure. I can do that. Fucking hell.

2. "Why, yes, I have lost weight, thank you for noticing. What? That is not what you meant by 'Man, you look tired'? My mistake. I thought you were a socially competent person."

What I actually said was: *awkward laugh* I guess I have been burning the candle at both ends. *awkward laugh*

3. "Stepping closer to me and talking louder does not make you right. It makes you a fucking asshole, but it does not make you right."

What I actually said was: I guess we should agree to disagree. What a pussy I am *eyeroll*

4. "No, thank you, I do not want any today, but I would like to be able to enter the grocery store without feeling like I am selling children into the sex slave trade by not buying any of your fucking cookies."

What I actually said was: Sure. I will take 4 boxes. Fucking Girl Scout Gestapo

*My apologies to known self-blog title-loathing, alliteration hater, SQ.

Is it a sin....?

2011-02-27T00:02:00.000-08:00

To covet thy neighbor's dog?

Meet my sponsor's new puppy Luna (short for lunatic)

Taken on her first hike with Auntie RBR. Some say "Auntie", some say "puppynapper". Toe-may-toe, Toe-mah-toe.

Luna is an 8-month old, terrier mix puppy that my sponsor adopted from NARF (Nike Animal Rescue Foundation). She is stubborn, crazy, destructive, and I am totally and completely IN. LOVE. WITH. HER.

Couldn't you just die of the cuteness? Yes, I am holding a dog snack above her nose, but I prefer to think she would look just as adoringly at me without it.

My sponsor lost Roadie, her 11 year old Rhodesian Ridgeback mix, about 4 months ago when he suddenly went into liver failure, stopped eating and had to be euthanized. Not to speak ill of the dead, and if you have read this blog you know that animals are very important to me, I love them all, but her dog, ....

was a seriously dangerous, NUT JOB.

Let's just say, that if anyone less kind, loving, and compassionate than my sponsor owned him he would have been guarding the gates of hell a LONG time ago. In the interest of fairness, she has been my sponsor for almost 20 years now, I imagine if I had not also found her, you could say the very same thing about me.

My sponsor picked up Roadie (on the road, hence the name. Plus her husband is in a band. I know, I rolled my eyes too at the "coolness") as a lost 4 month old puppy. She was headed out of town for the weekend, so she asked me to take care of him for a few days. In that time I could tell that Roadie, even as a young puppy, had some dominance and aggression issues and I warned her that it was imperative that he be trained and socialized or he would be a problem. As it turned out, I was right. REALLY right.

Boston Terrier doing his best Anthony Hopkins. Priceless. Difference is Roadie was almost 100 pounds of psychopathic pooch.

My sponsor grew up on a farm where you let dogs, be dogs and she did not really see the importance of training. She also thought I was a bit obsessive about training with Lucy and that Lucy was overly controlled by me.

Not to be snarky, but I can have people over to my house and I am reasonably confident my dog will not rip their throats out if they make eye contact with her. If that is "overly controlled" I am ok with that.

OK, fine, maybe she is a wee bit 'overly controlled.'

Anyhoo.... my sponsor wanted to avoid having that type of dog in her home for the next 11 years, so I was THRILLED that when she was ready to adopt she told me repeatedly that she would listen to anything I said and wanted me to help her pick her new dog.

Enter, Luna

We met her at a pet fair and she was the perfect dog for my sponsor and her family and ...

...for me. *sigh*

Before our hike we did a short walk at the park with Ms. Lucy (At 13 years young, Lucy is not much of a hiker anymore, but she was a BEAST in her day) and Luna was a perfect respectful young lady. She could blend right in to the family.

See?! She loves me!

Like the wingman that watches his buddy leave with the hot girl he spotted first and chatted up while screening for signs of excess emotional baggage or Fatal Attraction tendencies, I must sit idly by and watch MY dog go to puppy class with my sponsor.

I have a full blown case of puppy fever.

Hubby says, 'no', but this ain't my first rodeo. Stay tuned.

I am not okay.

2011-02-17T10:12:00.000-08:00

The following is a conversation with a coworker that has been known to describe me to others as an 'unstable hot-head', but before you shed too many tears at my expense, I have been known to describe him to him as a 'self-important prick.'

I am more of a cut-out-the-middle-man kind of gal when it comes to gossip and slander, and quite possibly an unstable, hot-head.

SIP: Hi, RBR! How are you? (He is not excited to see me, he needs something. Usually, if we are unfortunate enough to make eye contact we exchange head nods.)

RBR *struggling to get copy machine to accept the science department code*: I am fine. How are you, SIP?

SIP: Good, but, boy, I am sooooo busy.... [goes into long winded soliloquy about all the meetings and activities he is doing this year, in typical martyred teacher fashion. I would list them for you, but I stopped listening immediately after asking my question]

RBR *muttering to copier as it eats my originals*: Motherfucking, piece of shit....

I start repeatedly pressing clear button with more vehemence than is really necessary

SIP: You sure you are ok?

RBR: I am fine. What can I do for you?

I kick copier as it jams and the screen gives me convoluted instructions as to how to make it happy again. "Open door at 'A', slide 'B' to the right, to clear paper passage at 'C', while standing on one leg and reciting the Gettysburg Address in Swahili...."

SIP: As I think you know, I am on the Blah, blah, blah committee, where we sit around pontificate, kiss each other's asses, and never accomplish a fucking thing other than to waste time and try to sound important, ... Well, we have our meetings on Thursdays. I was wondering if you could cover my [insert his laundry list of Thursday night afterhours commitments] the first of which is tonight.

(ok, he did not say all that but he did try to offload THREE commitments in one fell swoop, which is very assholish, IMHO)

Meanwhile the copier refuses to take three of my originals and starts printing tests are missing 3 pages while making a godawful noise.

RBR: GODDAMN IT!

I punch the copier lid hard enough to make the godawful noise worsen.

Super

I start to bang my head on the copier.

RBR *turns to SIP, now looking like I am going to cry*: What? What do you want me to do for you?

SIP: Uh, nothing,but I don't think you are 'ok', though.

I think it is important to note that my personal life has taken a bit of a hit as of late, I was up at my latest weigh in, I am about to start my period, and it is raining today. The later is significant in that California schools do not have enclosed hallways. They are little more than glorified overhangs. Therefore, if it is windy your journey to the main office results in you getting soaked through and the rain plastering your bangs to your forehead giving you the oh-so-hot drown rat appearance. Plus my extra warm fleece is no longer 'extra warm' and smells a bit like wet dog. It is currently 6:45 am. *sigh*

Fine. I am not okay, but at least I do not have any extra Thursday night duties to cover. Being an unstable, hot-head has its advantages.

Race Report: Coyote Hills 10k trail Run - January 29 , 2011

2011-02-07T09:22:00.000-08:00

Two Saturday's ago I ran Brazen Racing's Coyote Hills 10k with my buddy Jo Lynn. It was a great race

(Full disclosure: It was a tad over crowded for my taste. I have no idea what the costs of putting on a race like this and trying to eek out a living are, so I am not going to judge how many sign ups they allowed. But I will say I would have preferred less people on a course that had an out and back trail section. As usual though, they had plenty of support and the race ran as smoothly as I have come to expect from their races, but it felt more like a crowded road race than a trail race IMHO)

Jo Lynn and I posing with the Dumbarton Rock Quarry (aka a big, fucking hole in the ground) behind us.

After 2 weeks of spring-like weather here in California I was having trouble adjusting to the cold. (I am certain that those of you who had to chisel your way out of your homes to go to work after last week's ice storms back east are flipping me off right now. My apologies. The ridiculous property taxes on my 900 sq ft house would make you feel better, I assure you.)

I do not have much to say about this race. It was nice. I love running with Jo Lynn. I got to see my buddies Ron and Katie (who have thrown my old, fat ass over and now run together without me. hmpf). But were there any funny stories? Not really.


RBR, Katie, and Jo Lynn *

*Yes, I cropped the shit out of this picture. There was a concern I would be charged with spandex abuse for what those poor shorts had to do to cover my ass.

*Notably missing Ron and RBR pic*

I do not have a cute pic of Ron and I to post. I am not self confident enough to post pictures that I can not crop into acceptability. Sorry. Next race big guy!

I did not even get an It's It after the race. *collective Awwwww! from the audience*

Let me clarify, lest you think that either 1. I was too slow, even at the 10k distance, to finish before they ran out of It's Its. or 2. I found "God," have sworn off all high fat, low nutrient foods, opting to "fuel" my body and eat only for function not pleasure, choosing lean meats and dark, leafy gree...

Hoo! I can not even type that with a straight face!

So, no. That is not why. Actually, I am doing pretty well on my diet and 6 miles is not enough calorie burn to justify the 340 calories and 18 grams of fat in an It's It. (Ok, I will be totally honest I just looked that fact up. I thought it was more like 600 calories and had I known it was only 340 I may have gone for it. So Brazen, keep an Its It on ice for me at the next race)

Reminder of the ice cream-y deliciousness that is an It's It!

Reminders of why I do my job/In case you forgot I was a nerd

I often bitch and moan about my job, but occasionally I get reminders of how really, really cool my job is.

End of the semester gift: My students presented me with an end of the semester gift. It was supposed to be a Christmas gift, but it did not arrive in time. Yes, loving this shirt as much as I do makes me a nerd. The fact that I wear it ALL THE TIME makes me an uber-nerd! I an ok with that

How awesome is this shirt?!

At last weekend's lab (To my fellow teachers: Yes, my students are so dedicated they come in on Saturday morning to do labs! It is ok to hate me.)

The students created squash prep slides of garlic root tips and then stained them to look at the phases of Mitosis. This is not as easy as it sounds. In a world of such easy access to excellent visual images made by the most advanced technology, students are often underwhelmed by what we can create in the classroom. It is a different story when they get to struggle to with tougher techniques like doing a squash prep thing enough to see individual cells yet not so hard that you create a hot mess of cell parts, or driving stain through the cell wall of plant cells to stain the DNA without destroying the rest of the cell and turning the whole damn thing blue, which was their task for one part of the lab:

Student *grumbles*: This is my fourth slide! If it is messed up again, can I just Google it to draw the picture?

Ms. RBR *looking through microscope*: DUDE! (I know, I am the paragon of professionalism) That is beautiful! Let me get my camera!

Student *trying to hide proud smile*: Finally. God.

Ms. RBR *taking a picture of the microscope field*: Quit whining and look. (Ok, and paragon of patience as well)

Student *looking into scope*: Whoa. That is kind of cool.Can you email me that picture? I want to show my mom.

Taken with my pink point and shoot camera that I just held up to the eyepiece. Pretty cool, huh? The pointer is on a cell in telophase of mitosis.

Bits and pieces:

My heart is breaking for a dear friend going through a very tough time. I think they know I would do anything to make it better, but I guess that only time can do that. Love to you, buddy.

LA Run buddy is now well into her third trimester. Due date is April 16th. She is uncomfortable as one would expect with an almost 8 month old human nestled within her intestines, and routinely doing the macarena on her bladder. She still exercises 4 times a week, works like a beast, and is the funniest and most loving and beautiful person I know. I have to throw a fucking baby shower and I hate attending baby showers, much less throwing one, but since I do not have to make the human or push it out my hoo ha I will keep my whining about it to a minimum.

My depression is improving.

Jo Lynn and I ran a great 8 miler yesterday (ok, 'great' is strong. I tried to bail at 3 miles and she would not let me, but we got it done) and are running the PCTR 20k at Lake Chabot on February 20th.

I have chosen a spring marathon Avenue of the Giants Marathon on May 1st. (Although, I would rather be heading to Wisconsin to run Diana's first marathon with her *sniff* I just can not make it happen this year. I will be there in spirit, girl! You will rock it!)

Ok, that is enough randomness for one day...

When we last left our hero....

2011-01-24T21:55:00.000-08:00

Sorry about my impromptu hiatus. I just got a tad overwhelmed with work and such. I did want to post an update since I am sure you all have been losing sleep wondering what the hell has been going on in my FASCINATING life:

1. The "Could-not-find-their-own-ass-with-two-hands United Airlines who lost my luggage, canceled my claim calling it "resolved", then dicked me around for 3 and a half more weeks" Saga:

They found my luggage! A mere month after my own arrival home, my beloved pink Puma hat is home safe and sound. Although it, along with everything else in my luggage, smells a bit like overripe pineapple. (Mental note: Next time leave the stupid pineapple in the hotel.)

This is wrong. I should not find this funny or cute. Nor should I endorse the taking of such a picture by putting it on my blog.

2. I have a student teacher this semester. By time second semester comes around I am running around like my ass is on fire with AP and the state standardized exams looming, committee commitments coming to a head, and teenage educational apathy is reaching its mid-year crescendo.

I am hoping that a bright eyed, eager beaver newbie teacher will shame me into getting my shit together. As I have said, my ego is probably the only reason I have accomplished anything in my life.

Yeah, yeah.. it is supposed to be about the children and their education... blah, blah, blah...

Anyhoo, while my first semester curriculum is neatly organized in folders on my hard drive, with a neatly maintained binder of student handout originals, lesson plans, and standards alignment on my desk, my second semester curriculum is a veritable hot mess. From the end of January to June, I find myself scrambling when planning to find something, and more often than I care to admit, just recreating activities and lessons out of frustration. I figured a student teacher would force me to get my second semester stuff in order like my first semester curriculum.

I view my decision to take on a student teacher akin to those people that get a puppy so they will exercise. I just hope she does not end up a fat, untrained Labrador locked in the backyard.

I do have to share a "fun" student interaction when I introduced my young, beautiful student teacher to the class:

Ms. RBR: Everyone, I would like to introduce Miss. K...

Student in front row: Is she your daughter?

I look up at my student teacher who stands a foot and a half taller than me, has bright blue eyes, dark brown hair, and legs up to her neck.

Ms. RBR in her best arrogant asshole, teacher voice: No, Mendel, this is our new student teacher.

*sigh* Clearly I did a bang up job teaching the concept of heredity.

3. My tooth woes: I had my double root canal last week. It was about as fun as ... well, ... a fucking double root canal.

Lucky for me it is only half done and I get to go back next Monday to finish both teeth. Then I get to schedule the gum surgery and the crowns. It is the gift that keeps on giving.

Goddamn, mother fucking, stupid ass $3000.00 granola cluster.

4. I have started yet another diet program. I know, my annual "Hey look! I gained back all the weight from last year's diet" Diet is a tad early this year. I usually do not need to do this until March.

What can I say? I am an overachiever.

Oh, for the love of Pete!

2011-01-03T20:56:00.000-08:00

The compassionate and downright hysterical comments I received on my last post, remind me why I love this strange medium we call the Blogosphere. Thank you all. I know that I am a piss poor Bloggy buddy these days, but your support has helped me through some pretty dark hours this past 12 months.

I have been pretty open about the fact that I thought 2010 was about as fun as a thumb tack and saw dust enema, but Pam reminded me of one very important fact about 2010...

...it could have been so much fucking worse.

I was not going to do a year end post at all, but I decided to post about things that did NOT happen in 2010.

Things that I am grateful did NOT happen in 2010:

My husband did NOT die of cancer, nor did he get worse.

My best friend did NOT go blind, nor did she have a brain tumor.

My mother did NOT die of a pulmonary embolism, nor does she have any permanent damage to her lungs.

I did NOT spend the summer sitting on my ample arse feeling sorry for myself.

Let's see... what else have I got?

Ah, I did NOT, despite my very best efforts, gain more weight than my now almost 7 months pregnant best friend.

I also did NOT have all of my limbs slowly gnawed off by carnivorous, three toothed wood nymphs... so, that certainly goes the 'win' column for 2010.

2010 Exercise Totals:

Running: 597 miles

WAY shy of my secret 1000 mile goal. Let's be honest, I have had that goal for several years now and have NEVER met it, but it is more than last year. And yes, SQ, that is less than half of your mileage. In the interest of full disclosure, I am probably less than half your IQ as well. :)

Cycling: 1491 miles

About 500 miles less than last year, but ok.

Total Miles: 2088 miles

Overall, the exercise front was better than I thought before I ran the numbers. I sometimes get caught up in comparing myself to others. As if by not doing as much activity, or not being as dedicated, or not showing as much as improvement as [insert whatever person I am judging myself by] it lessens my own accomplishments.

Fuck that.

I am an active person. Am I the most active person I know? Not even close. By the same token, I am also not the smartest, the nicest, the funniest, the prettiest, the most selfless....etc etc. My life is not a contest, why do I treat it like one?

When my body turns into a pile of decomposing goo, does it really matter how I ranked in this pretend race? No. What matters is how I feel about me today.

I have spent YEARS of the only life I get, sitting on my ass constantly physically and/or emotionally beating the shit out of myself. I have worked hard on many fronts to be a different person. Am I perfect? Fuck no. Am I a hell of a lot better than I was? Fuck yes. In many ways.

Yet, I still tend to be the meanest person I know...

...to me.

(ok, and maybe a few other assholes, but they most likely have it coming and this is about me, so let's stay focused, people!)

2011 Resolution

Be nicer to me

I want to do this so that I can be the happy, mentally healthy person that my incredible friends and family deserve to have in their life.

Oh, and about the title of this post. Today at school I was fighting to get my printer to get it to stop printing page after page of random garbage (Just to let you know what a piece of shit this thing is and how angry it makes me, I have punched it hard enough to split my knuckle. Twice.) and in a fit of frustration, without any students present I yelled "Oh, for the love of Pete!" As you can probably surmise from my more colorful language choices on this blog, this would not be a typical exclamation from me. My mom used to say that phrase all the time when I was younger (I know, you are shocked that my mom would ever need to shout in exasperation). I have not heard her say it in a long time. It cracked me up that it was my 'go to' phrase, so I thought I would share.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland!

2010-12-28T21:01:00.000-08:00

Of course, your definition of a 'winter wonderland' and mine may be a little different.

Winter in Maui, Hawaii

I had grand plans of posting a 'Farewell! I am off to Hawaii!' post, but I got sidetracked by .. well more on that later, as you read what could also be titled List of Additional Shit that makes 2010 Suck Ass.

Here are the pictures, I was going to use

Walrus Girl Does Hawaii! (Ok, possibly only funny to SQ. Alright, maybe not even to him, but cute, no?)

Mr. and Mrs. RBR at the airport!

But since I am already back from Hawaii, it seems that whole We-are-off-to-Hawaii-Try-to-not-freeze-your-tuckus-off-while-you-choke-on-your-jealousy,-bitches! ship has sailed.

So, without further adieu...

Hawaii 2010

Back at the beginning of the school year, I decided that we would celebrate the end of my husband's cancer treatment by going to Hawaii for Christmas. Then I convinced my family that we are all grown adults that do not need anything and we should just skip presents this year since we would all be out of town.

Let's just say, sometimes...

I am fucking BRILLIANT.

Zero stress Christmas? Check.

Pre-Vacay

2010 continues its campaign for the "Most Suck Ass Year to Beat All Suck Ass Years," so the transition to vacation was not as seamless I would have liked.

It started in November when a granola cluster, that apparently featured Titanium chips, broke my tooth. (Like how I blame the inanimate object and not my hillbilly dental constitution? Whatevs. That thing was ridiculous) Upon seeing the dentist, the following transpired:

Evil, money grubbing Dentist who is, in reality, neither evil, nor money grubbing: Ummm... wow, that is a bad break. You need a root canal, gum surgery since it broke below the gum line, and then a special cap. And, gee, this tooth behind it is chipped as well and the filling looks involved, so it may need work too. Oh, and by the way, *sadistic dentist smile* you have reached your insurance cap for the year, so it will have to all be out of pocket. (Translation for you non-dentists: "Whoa! That is one jacked up tooth. But don't worry, this is not only going to hurt like a mofo, it is going to cost you enough to put my kid through her first year at Stanford")

Me thinks to myself in true hillbilly style: Fuck that. It does not hurt now. I am waiting until 2011 when my insurance resets to fix this bitch.

Me says: Thank you, doctor. I will check my schedule and give you a call to set up the appointment (translation for you non-hillbilly types: See ya next year, sucka!)

[eerie foreshadowing music plays]

Fast forward to December 17 (THREE fucking days before departure on our very needed and very expensive Hawaiian holiday getaway) the tooth starts to hurt. A LOT.

Super.

I hear flying in a airplane is a GREAT idea when you have a toothache. I just said "fuck it", and got a prescription for pain medication and proceeded as planned.

Random picture from Hawaii to break up text block. Plumeria flowers.

At the end of November my parents returned from their 3 week vacation in Antarctica. (I know! Right? They had an amazing trip. I hope to have a picture or two to share when my dad finishes them.) On the return flight my mother developed a pulmonary embolism (blood clot to her lungs) and had to be hospitalized. The doctor told us that she "dodged a bullet" and if the clot had not scattered when it left the heart and went to the lungs it would have most likely killed her instantly or caused massive lung damage. It was pretty fucking terrifying. She is doing very well now, but her long distance flying days are over.

Vacay

With mom at home and out of danger and fistful of painkillers I head off to Hawaii with hubby.

Christmas at the Ritz-Carlton Kapalua...

...with this sexy creature.

Hard to bemoan your lot in life when you are in Maui at Christmas with the man you love. The vacation was exactly what I needed: laid back, relaxed, and beautiful. I even had the peace of mind to read. I have not been able to finish a book in the last 8 months. I have started several, but have only finished one I think.

Running in Hawaii

Things I learned running in Hawaii

1. I am out of shape

2. Hawaii is humid.

3. Asthma, and by extension the asthmatic RBR, does not like humidity.

4. It does not matter where I go I end up running uphill.

5. Running while out of shape, in humidity, with asthma, and uphill sucks ass.

6. Running while on vacation in Hawaii makes you not care about 1-5.

Top of the hill, well one of them, but it is all good, brah (Yes, I am entirely too white to say "brah." My apologies to the Hawaiian people)

Scenes from my Hawaiian Running

Leaving the hotel. This is at the Bayan tree at the entrance to the hotel.

Yellow Hibiscus (the state flower of Hawaii) planted along the golf course.

Tunnel that lets you run under the Piilani Hwy.

Lush greenery along trail.

View from the near the top of the trail. It is ok to hate me now *smug grin*

GIGANTO African Snail (there were TONS of this invasive, introduced species. I will spare you the lecture about island ecosystems and introduced species)

Monarch butterflies gettin' down and dirty on the trail. No shame, those Monarchs. It was Monarch breeding season in Kapalua.

The product of the lepidopteran exhibitionists (Again, only funny to SQ and other science nerds)

This may be the last picture of me and my favorite pink run hat. To add to the wonder that has been my 2010, United airlines lost my luggage on our return trip. My run hat, water belt, sunglasses, favorite run shorts, and cute new run tops were all inside. *sigh*

You did it 2010! You won the "Most Suck Ass Year to Beat All Suck Ass Years"! Congratulations!

*sniff* I will miss you pink Puma run hat.

And lest you think I forgot you, G

Aloha (RBR style) from Hawaii!

Race Report: Summit RockTrail 10k - December 11, 2010

2010-12-14T12:40:00.000-08:00

As many of you know, a cute logo is often all it takes to get me to sign up for a race.

This little bugger was actually cute enough to get me up early on Saturday morning when I would have rather hid under the covers all day.

I do love that his round little face is trying to be all bad ass. (WAY over exposed picture of the back of the t-shirt.)

I really like Brazen races. They are well supported, well organized, and in beautiful locations. They have a very hometown race feel, with all the frills of a bigger race. Plus on the girly side, they usually have cute logos and nice t-shirts that are available in tech fabric and women specific fit.

Front of shirt and the finisher's medal.

I am pretty over the men's, size medium white, cotton race t-shirts that make me look like an asexual box (shut up, G).

"Oh, but RBR, you can make a super cool race t-shirt quilt," you may exclaim! I have enough shirts to make like 12 "super cool" quilts, and let's be serious, I barely have the wherewithal to fold my laundry on the weekend much less sew a goddamn quilt. Soooo... yeah, I will pass on the white cotton race tee.

"Super cool" race shirt quilt. I know one Type A personality with too much time on her hands.

Pre-run

A picture that captures my status for the past couple of weeks:

Me, all rhinoceros like, wallowing in my own muck.

Upside: Wallowing is very restful and my hip is feeling MUCH better, so I was a 'go' to run the Summit 10k this weekend.

Downside: My mood was piss poor from the moment I woke up Saturday morning.

Run

I was thrilled to learn that Ron and Katie were doing the run, but was also surprised and excited to find that Ann (trail turtle) was also in town and running today!

Ann, Ron, Katie, Moi.
Sheesh. I am thinking Jenny Craig will not be calling me anytime soon to be their next spokesmodel. Whatevs.

I registered for the 10k in my new "RBR is only going to do reasonable distances that she is actually trained for" resolution. Sadly the maiden voyage of this resolution was a bit of a miss, since I have only been doing runs from 0 -3 miles in length on the treadmill for the last month and a half and this was a 6.5 mile trail run with 1889 ft of climb.

Oopsies. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Elevation profile (grumble...Bimactive.com sold out to Adidas and now they do not accept gps data anymore. *Unhappy RBR face*)

Dirty Details:

Total Distance: 6.67 miles
Total climb: 1889 ft
Total time: 1:44:21

Ann was doing the 10k as well, so we decided to run together. Ron and Katie were doing the half marathon and I must admit there was a twinge of jealousy that they were doing the longer distance while I did the 10k. That lasted until about half a mile into the initial 3.25 mile climb, then I was pretty fucking glad to not be doing the half marathon and was wondering what the hell my aversion to the 5k distance was.

Yes, we are walking. It was more of a 3.25 mile hike, followed by a 3.25 mile run.

Ann claims to read my blog, but before the race she kept telling me that if I wanted to go faster I did not have to wait for her. Yeah, that is how my race reports ALWAYS play out, with ol' RBR leaving people in the dust, so I have my doubts about her actually reading it. Needless to say, despite the fact that she was having some hip issues I huffed and puffed behind her trying to keep up.

Ann waiting on Huff n' Puff the 'out-of-shape' Dragon behind her. Notice she is nicer about it than Ron was at the Tarantula 1/2. I am just saying.

The course was gorgeous. The fog made for perfect running conditions that were neither too hot nor too cold. I had run out here once before and it was as beautiful and hard as I remembered. The ascent was brutal, but the downhill was much better than I thought it would be and we were able to run the entire thing. At 41, I spend a lot of time and money trying to defy gravity, but gravity CAN be your friend when you are ass endowed and running downhill.

Obligatory race dog photo #1. Super cute french bulldog.

Obligatory race dog photo #2. For the record, that wadded up thing was a dog bed and was intact when we started the race. By the time we left it looked like it had snowed.

At the end, I was very glad I decided to come out and run despite my horrid mood leading up to Saturday. Plus deciding to do the 10k and not the half marathon had its benefits:

1. At Brazen races they have 'It's It' ice cream sandwiches at the finish line. Now, since I usually do the longest distance they offer and am usually the slowest runner there, I am never done when there are sandwiches left, but not today, baby!

Ann with RBR and her 'Hey-I-am-not-last!' It's It. Cappuccino flavored. I mean, come on! Does it get better than that?

2. There was food left. Lots of food left. Including pie!

Yes, I had pie AND ice cream after running only 6.5 miles. Jenny Craig is not going so well, as you can imagine.

3. Judging from how Ron and Katie looked coming in, I could possibly still be out there trying to finish, if was doing the half marathon course.

4. I got to wait for Ron and Katie to come in. (That NEVER happens. They are always waiting on me)

And when they did come in I looked rested, and smug, and chock full of ice cream, pie and smugness. Did I mention the smugness?

They were a wee bit tired from the half marathon course, which did not get better after the 10k turn around from what I hear. I wouldn't know I was eating free ice cream.

Love you, man.

MANY thanks to Ann who helped me turn my mood around and have a really great run on Saturday.

You guys rock! Thank you all so much.

Next up Katie and I will be doing the 11 miler at Crystal Springs on January 8th. Ron didn't really think he could steal my girl without a fight, did he?

Ahhhh, Winter!

2010-12-01T12:00:00.000-08:00

Stupid, fucking Winter.

Or as I like to call it, The Season of Snot.

Some of you are gasping at the statement, saying "How could you hate the season that brings crisp, clean air, quiet snow covered mornings, and inspires friends and family to gather around a roaring fire and reflect on the beauty of it all?"

It is pretty easy, really.

It is cold, dark, wet, miserable, and I am horridly allergic to winter and all of its climate controlled, indoor living.

For example, if you invite me over for a roaring fire in your home, better make sure the plastic slip covers are in place. I am second only to Saint Bernards in the ability to cover everything as far as the eye can see in a fine patina of mucus.

Yes, SQ, this is an English Bulldog, but its funny so I used it anyway.

Reasons I hate winter:

1. I spend the winter with a resting heart rate of 125 bpm from all the decongestants I have to take to be able to breathe out of, at most, one nostril at any given time.

2. I am constantly asked "Are you sick?" If I answer "No, I have allergies," I get the 'you are full of shit' look because everyone assumes allergies are a spring time gig. So I usually answer, "Yes, I have Dengue Fever, but the doctor says I am most likely not contagious anymore." (I substitute the Flu du jour if there is one in the news to induce extra fast fleeing from me. Aside: Hubby sent me that link. Hilarious.)

3. I sleep with Kleenex stuffed up at least one nostril to keep from drowning in the pool of my own snot created by an unobstructed 'down' nostril when I lay on my side.

4. It is cold. [insert eyerolls from East Coast persons]

I live in and love California. Therefore, by definition, I hate weather. Specifically weather that strays outside of the '75 degrees and 0% humidity' zone. Here in California, we avoid weather at all costs, trying to maintain as close to an endotherm level of homeostasis as possible. A couple of degrees + or -, fine. Go beyond that and we start pissing and moaning and stamping our little crunchy granola, hippy feet.

Yesterday it was 36 degrees at 8:30 in the morning. The sun was up for Christ's sake!

*stamps little crunchy granola, hippy foot*

I emailed a friend to bemoan the fact that I had to wear a coat to work. He essentially told me to stop being such a pissy, little bitch.

Umm.... dude, it was not a sweatshirt or fleece, it was an actual COAT!

Ok, I will stop.

5. It gets dark at like 2:30 in the afternoon. (ok, that is a slight exaggeration, but it sure feels that way.)

6. I think my feelings for winter can be summed up by the simple chemical reaction:

RBR + Cold + 2Dark + 5Allergies -----------------> 3Lack of exercise + 4Ass size increase + 3Moody Bitch

I almost can not believe how perfect this picture is, only reconfirming my belief that Google images is powered by God.

Running

The hip is improving and I have set my sights on a few runs: (I am over calling them "races". I am very frequently last. If I am 'racing' I supremely suck at it. )

December 11: Summit Rock 10k (chosen for its uber cute, if not geographically correct, Eagle logo)

January 8: Crystal Springs 11 mile (chosen because Woodside is beautiful and Coastal trail runs have cute t-shirts)

January 29: Coyote Hills 1/2 marathon (chosen because Jo Lynn is doing it and she is adorable!)

February: TBD

March 12: If I get in, Way too Cool 50k (chosen due to beautiful trail and AWESOME frog logo. There is a lottery, so kind of a long shot)

Cliches R Us

2010-11-25T13:47:00.000-08:00

As a member of a 12 step program I am no stranger to gratitude lists.

Hell, anytime you piss and moan to your sponsor about anything the first thing out of their mouth is "I think you need to do a gratitude list, you whiny little bitch!" (Ok, I added the "you whiny little bitch" part, but it is implied)

Therefore, I am not really a once a year giver of thanks, but since I have no running to write about (*le sigh*) I thought I would write something down.

Thanksgiving Cliche 2010

1. I am grateful that this little BOY is cooking along just fine inside the equally healthy LA Run Buddy

It is a boy! Come on, even people that do not like babies can not help but smile at that buddha belly!

2. I am grateful that my husband is done with radiation, does not need anymore hormone deprivation shots, and is as healthy as someone with cancer can be.

Hubby cooking the turkey, which leads into number 3....

3. I am grateful that hubby cooked the turkey since I have NO fucking clue how to turn a raw, dead bird into something edible.

I am getting a lesson on turkey prep. As you can imagine, I am listening intently.

Full disclosure: He also did the stuffing, the potatoes, and the gravy. Even though my mother insisted I cook Thanksgiving dinner this year, I only did the green bean casserole (yes, the one that you give to your 6 year old niece to cook, so she feels like she is a part of the process) and the salad. I am the sorriest excuse for a woman alive.

4. I am grateful that I have a full time job with good medical benefits and a financial lifestyle I can afford on my income. Despite an economic downturn and a year that has kicked me and my hubby in the ass, we do not have to worry about paying our bills or losing our home.

Picture, solely for the purpose of a personal beef.

5. I am grateful the rest of my family and friends are healthy and happy. I could not fathom my life without them. Or more precisely, I would not want to fathom my life without them.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Friends: Old and New

2010-11-16T13:25:00.000-08:00

This long, holiday weekend I had the opportunity to spend some quality time with some quality people. My hip has still been a problem and I have not run since before the aborted Bogg's race.

The mood in RBRland has been dour at best. This weekend I was able to see, once again, just how fucking lucky I am.

Thursday

I started the long weekend with one of my all time favorite humans, LA Run Buddy. We hung out and caught a movie since she was going to be gone all weekend visiting people in L.A. and spreading the news about her impending motherhood. (Yes, you all heard it way before the beautiful people of L.A. Ha!)

Friday

I was off on Friday for the Veteran's Day weekend. I called up a buddy of mine that recently had a stroke to see if I could come visit. (Ok, full disclosure, I went to visit him at the rehab center on Tuesday and he had been discharged that morning. Oops. Way to be on top of it, RBR)

He was trying his first foray at one handed, wheelchair baking. He was making cupcakes for his brother's birthday. I have 2 black thumbs when it comes to baking, but I have a black belt when comes to sampling baked goods, so I told him, "Hells yeah, I will come 'help'." I hung with him and his super cool family for a few hours before I had to take LA Run Buddy to the airport. His brother, sister-in-law, and their 3 children are taking care of him. Amazing people all of them.

We decided that pineapple upside down cupcakes baked by a stroke victim* have no calories, which is good for me since I ate 4.

I stole this picture from Google images, but this is exactly what they looked like. Delish.

*He actually calls himself a stroke volunteer. He smoked like a train, did not exercise, and despite being a diabetic for 14 years partook generously in the fruits of his own labor as a pastry chef. He is on the wagon now and has not smoked since the stroke 3 weeks ago. He is also the model physical therapy patient and he did not eat even one cupcake!

Saturday

Jo Lynn and I decided to go for a "walk" at Sunol Regional Wilderness Park. I put 'walk' in parenthesis because her last email to me in planning for this "walk" was "just bring 32-40 oz. of water and you should be fine."

That morning I was filling my Camelbak in preparation, and hubby says,

Hubby: I thought you were just getting coffee and going for a walk?

RBR: *sigh* Yeah, this is a Jo Lynn walk. I have to earn my freaking coffee.

When most women say they are going to get coffee and go for a walk, you imagine strolling along some pretty bike path sipping a latte. Not if you go with Jo Lynn. So filled the Camelbak.

Jo Lynn, most adorable trail dog ever, Boomer, and moi. (Pic stolen from Jo Lynn's blog.)

I had never been to Sunol and it was beautiful. There is a place they call little Yosemite because of the rock formations and there were gorgeous views of Mt. Diablo in the distance. Obviously, since it was gorgeous I took exactly zero pictures. Nice one, RBR. Documentation FAIL.

Another picture stolen from Jo Lynn

Jo Lynn is recovering from surgery and I am pretty sure she is not supposed to be dropping my ass on the hiking trails, but it was exactly what I needed to get back out there. I have been wallowing a bit because of my hip and sometimes I forget that what I really love about this sport. is going somewhere beautiful and spending time with people I like. It does not really matter how fast I am doing it.

Little Yosemite, Sunol Regional Wilderness Park (pic stolen from Google Images)

Fortunately for me, the surgery slowed Jo Lynn down. Since she hikes faster than I run, I would have had no chance of keeping up with her at her normal hiking pace. (Aren't I a peach? I am grateful the woman was slowed by painful bone surgery. Line to be RBR's friend forms here)

Sunday

Then a friend of mine from San Diego came up for the weekend to celebrate her grandmother's 98th birthday. I have not seen her in over a year. We have been friends for almost 20 years. She moved to San Diego, had children, and things just change, but this weekend it was nice to reconnect.

RBR and J at Grandma's 98th b-day. Damn, Grandma is not the only one getting older.

The take home message from this weekend for me is that, friendships take work to maintain and I have not been taking care of my friendships. I include my immediate family in this. Sometimes I forget that just because I am thinking about someone, or even talking about how much someone means to me that does not mean that they necessarily know that. I get so wrapped up in the day to day shit that I forget to take care of what really matters.

I am very lucky to have a lot of really incredible people in my life, both in my immediate world and farther away (and some that I barely know that have helped me more than they can imagine). I would not have made it through this year without their support. I want them to know how much they mean to me.

Yeah, yeah, I am in one of those moods, if you have not gotten one already, be expecting some sappy ass emails.

Finally, my BIG news!

2010-11-11T13:04:00.000-08:00

I will admit that I am a little late in getting back to you all on my BIG news (aka: the only news I received in 2010 that did not TOTALLY suck ass!)

So without further adieu...

LA RUN BUDDY IS PREGNANT!!!

Yep, she

...is with child...

...is knocked up...

...has got a bun in the oven...

...is eating for two...

...is sportin' the baby bump...

...is knittin' a human... (Ok, I made that one up, but it makes me laugh)

Obligatory nerdy pregnancy euphemisms

...is gestating...

...is gravid...

...is showing off her fecundity

I can not think of any person that is a better choice to raise a human than her. She is the kindest, most loving person I know. I could not be happier for her or more excited to meet the little person she has brewing inside her.

I know that it is a little odd that I am so goddamn excited about this and that I feel the need to announce it here because: 1. It is not me that is pregnant 2. LA Run Buddy does not read this blog and 3. Despite the fact that many feel there is evidence to the contrary, LA Run Buddy and I are not lesbian lovers and this is not our child she is carrying,

...but as I have said many times - my blog, my rules. I get to talk about whatever I want.

I know almost nothing about babies. I have never really been around them much, but I have raised a lot of orphan kittens how different can they be?

The times, they are a changin'.

Leaving Kelseyville: NOT a Bogg's Mtn 50k Race Report

2010-10-31T09:58:00.000-07:00

Alternative Title: My brief, expensive vacation in ShitHolio, CA.

*sigh*

Short version:

I am hurting, I did not really want to run, and I was a DNS for Bogg's Mtn 50k.

More typical RBR verison:

I do not really write much about the aches and pains of running. I am 41, I did not start running (or doing anything active AT ALL) until I was 35, and, as you can gather from the title of this blog, I am NOT your typical runner's build

Translation: Trucking this much ass around can be a little tough on the joints. Shit is going to hurt. That is just a fact.

The reality is that 99% of the time, if I run long enough, whatever pain I have eventually goes away, changes location, or does not really bother me that much anymore. However, last week my hip started to hurt even when I was not running and then during a 12 mile run it not only never got better, it got worse. As a matter of fact, after the Tarantula Run is was downright painful and made it difficult to move around at all for the rest of the weekend. All week I knew that running 31 miles was probably not a good idea.

Originally hubby and Lucy (my dog) were supposed to come with me. He had told me a the week before that he did not want to go, but I had already booked a room that was a little farther from the race start than I wanted because it was an affordable place that took dogs.

Enter my motel in Kelseyville.

The driveway to the motel. Odd, that this is not the view they chose for the website picture.

Despite the fact that a small language barrier had the gal in the office repeatedly telling me that 'Mr. Ritav' (not my name) was not coming and had canceled, I finally got checked in. Lucky me, I was in the room adjacent to the more "long term" residents of the motel.

Welcome to Clear Lake, the methamphetamine capital of California, where shirts and teeth are optional!

Friday evening was spent trying to find somewhere to eat (Let's just say that Kelseyville has been hit hard by the economic downturn.), then locking myself in my room and flipping channels to find something that was not Halloween oriented on TV. I was already shacked up with the cast of The Night of the Living Dead I did not need anymore nightmare inducing material.

Saturday morning I got up and was limping around the room getting ready, deciding how much Ibuprofen I would need to get though 31 miles, and it hit me,

"This is stupid. I am being stupid. Do I want to run this race or do I want to be able to run, period?"

Loading up on anti-inflammatories, and risking making my hip significantly worse, to run a long distance race that I did not even really want to run, just so I did not have to tell people that I did not run it? That was supremely stupid.

And really? I. Did. Not. Want. To. Run.

Usually, even if I am nervous/ambivalent about a race, I can visualize running it and being on the course for as long as it takes, enjoying the views and the people. Saturday morning the thought of driving to the venue and running 50k was overwhelming. Even dropping to the 25k did not appeal to me. I had paid for the race fee, paid for two nights in this Piss-in-the-sink Motel, and then spent 3 and half hours driving up here, but come race day morning it was clear, I was hurting and the 50k was not going to happen today.

I would love to say that I calmly accepted this fact like a mature adult and made alternate plans for the day since I was in a truly beautiful area, but I did not. I cried like a baby and called my hubby. He listened to me, and then said "Come home now. I want you to come home."

I was so relieved. I know, you are thinking. "You could not make that call on your own? You are a grown, independent woman, and you needed your husband to tell you what to do?"

Yes. At that moment, yes, I did.

And with that, I packed my shit and left.

On the drive home, I was feeling pretty bad about things. Mostly feeling like a loser and that this was the beginning of the end of my running. My internal dialogue was, "You will quit. You always quit. You might as well, you are slow and fat and suck at this anyway...."

Wah. Wah. Wah.

Mid pity party, I see a dog jogging along the center median of the freeway. I hit my brakes and pulled over in the median.

I get out of the car and see that he is crossing the freeway, but then he sees me and starts to head back toward me.

Oh fuck, no!

Cars were coming. I was watching, helpless as he crossed, trying to get him to run faster. I see a white Subaru coming and clearly hitting his brakes, but I am certain he can not stop in time. I scream and cover my eyes.

Suddenly he was there, cowering next to me. Somehow, the guy did not hit the dog, nor did he cause a wreck. He did some great driving to miss him. Thank you, white Subaru Guy, whoever you are!

I grabbed the dog's collar and literally threw him in the back seat of my car, jumping in after him and slamming the door as if the terror could be locked outside. We sat there, both panting, and staring at each other, like "Holy fuck, that was close!"

I was still trying to regain my composure, when the dog found the muffin I had bought for breakfast. He wolfed it down in one snake-like swallow and then kissed my face, his stubby little tail wagging away.

You have to respect how dogs just move on from shit. We can learn a lot from dogs.

He was wearing a collar with a Rabies tag, so I called the vet, found out the dog's name was Stanley, and got Stanley's owner's information.

(Bitchy Aside: get a name tag for your dog with your name, address, and phone number on it, so people can get your dog back to you if they are found. "My dog NEVER gets out" Yeah. I have been picking up stray and lost dogs for 20 years. Everyone says that. Had this happened when the vet was closed, Stanley's owners would have been driving 3 hours south to get him. I am just saying.)

Stanley, clearly liking the freeway better from this side of the car.

Watching Stanley jump on his owner in joy and run around with his, decidedly smarter, dog buddy (the one that did not follow him on his adventure), I was suddenly not feeling so bad about not running Bogg's.

Oh, I can win a race. If the stakes are high enough.

2010-10-27T08:32:00.000-07:00

I held the door for a pleasant woman that I have seen several mornings at the gym. She is a treadmill runner too, so we have smiled at each other, but have never been interested enough to actually take out our headphones and say 'hi'.

I held the door for her and then entered right behind her. She chatted up the hot, 20 something year old gym attendant (To be clear, this is "hot" for 4 in the morning. I imagine I would find him less hot after coffee consumption and when he is not surrounded by the > 60 yo early bird gym set, but he looks pretty good in that light, is all I am saying.) as he scanned her gym card. He scanned my card next and I politely waited for her to start moving toward the exercise room.

Then I saw it.

The only 2 open treadmills in the green zone. I call it the green zone because, for some reason, that is only apparent to the owners of 24 Hour Fitness, it must be 342 degrees at any given time in the gym, and the green zone is where the one pitiful AC vent is located. Therefore, if you prefer to run with your core body temperature at less than 342 degrees, you have to use one the treadmills or ellipticals in the green zone only. It is a 5000 sq. foot gym and at 4 in the morning there are at most 10 people there, yet we are all clustered in the green zone. I can only imagine what a little slice of hell that gym is at 5 pm.

Anyhoo...

The green zone only has 5 treadmills, one of which is the treadmill that is ALWAYS occupied by the Crypt Keeper, who is no less than 170 years old and freakishly tan. He cranks the incline on the treadmill to its maximum and pounds out the miles like he is running from the Grim Reaper himself. No one wants to run next to the Crypt Keeper. 1. because he makes you look like a pussy with your 0% incline running and 2. if you are female, he wants to talk to you, saying things that always start off with "He He If only I were 30 years younger...."

Ick. Try 100 years younger, Creepmaster.

*shudders*

So we don't really count the one next to him "open" per say. There only 3 other treadmills that are considered truly usable in the green zone and one of them was taken. Leaving the center treadmill and the one that was parked right in front of a full length mirror.

Now, I do not know about you ladies, but I like to hold on to the delusion that when I run I am smooth and graceful like a gazelle, bouncing playfully on the treadmill belt, light as a feather, with my ponytail swinging easily which each stride, a light sheen of sweat giving my face an angelic glow, teeth gleaming as I smile at my effortless pace.

Ahhhh. Take a moment as I savor that image.

Having a full length mirror in front of you means that I must either crane my neck to the side to avoid my own image, or face the godawful truth of my lumbering rhinoceros gait pounding along, causing the machine to shake wildly and threatening collapse at any moment, with my 4 am, 41 year old face sagging at each stride, red, puffy, and my mouth twisted in grimace as I gasp for air.

Ummm...Yeah. I sooo do not want that treadmill.

And I am not one to cast stones, but Dollface in front of me, was no gazelle either, if you catch my drift.

So it was on. One of us was going to get the center treadmill and one was going be forced to face their own running truth at 4 in the morning.

I pull along side of her as the path widens, she knows what I am doing and she picks up the pace. I follow suit and push it more. She turns and smiles a strained smile at me, looking for mercy? Maybe weakness? Tough cookies, sweetheart, all I have for you is an ass kicking and bubblegum, and I am fresh out of bubblegum!

I pull ahead. I can taste victory. 10 more strides and I can throw my towel over the computer which is the universal gym sign for 'taken.'

Gah! The cleaning guy steps in front of me, allowing her to pass me. She smirks as she takes the lead.

Only 3 more strides. Dear God, Crypt Keeper or Rhinoceros! RBR, you must push through. Our legs are hustling as fast as we can without looking like we are racing each other. She is staying just ahead of me.

Then it happened. All athletes have to look for that one moment when the race can be theirs, Perky Polly on the mat next to us, pops up from her exercise ball, "Janice! Hey! How are you?"

I step around her as she slows to face Perky and throw my towel over the screen of the center treadmill. Bet you wish you were an anti-social, out cast like me now, dontcha, Dollface!

Smugly I hop on the treadmill and begin my run. I hear the treadmill behind me start up.

"Good morning, Janice. He he. If only I were 30 years younger...."

Race Report: Tarantula Run - Trail Half Marathon October 23, 2010

2010-10-25T06:12:00.000-07:00

The real reason I ran this race

Cutest logo, EVER!

Dirty Details

Total Distance: 12.2 miles (that will make the next line of this a little shittier to type)

Total Time: 2:45:19 (errr.. yeah, so that would NOT be a PR. Even on a course that was short by almost a mile)

Number of gopher holes Ron fell in: 1 (This was not even during the race. It was before we even started running. Made me snort with laughter)

Pre Race

Ron and I decided to run this together after he unabashedly dropped my ass at the start line of not one, but two prior races. Then Katie called me this week and said that she was going to volunteer and wanted to know if I wanted to carpool.

Ummm, ... hells yeah!

Katie, Cutest Volunteer of 2010

The Tarantula Run is put on by the Contra Costa Water District (CCWD) and the employees of the water district make up the vast majority of the volunteers. This is the 5th annual race and I will tell you it is a well run, down home, SUPER friendly race. It runs in the open space of the Los Vaqueros Reservoir and Watershed. It was a beautiful, but challenging course.

Run profile. I have my own, but this one is too damn cute! Whoever does the graphics for CCWD is a freakin' genius!

Trail Map for the Run. Kudos again to the graphic artist!

RBR Obligatory Race dog photo. So cute!

Run

There was an arch for the start, but for some reason that we were not privy to, we did not start there. *shrugs* The field was small. I would guess there were less than 40 runners in the half marathon. I looked around and saw that there would be a distinct possibility that I would be last. (I know, "You need a crystal ball for that prediction, Captain Obvious?" )

Pretty pond along the trail

The run was predominately along cattle roads and we had been warned that we may encounter sheep or cows along the run. I loves me some sheeps and cows, but we did not see one stinkin' cow or sheep. Another thing we did not see one of today at the Tarantula run were tarantulas.

The only tarantulas I would see today. I am not a spider fan, but it was a tad disappointing since one of my objectives of this race was to skeeve out Lindsay. (Note: Not my calves. Taken and posted completely without permission. My bad)

I will bring back this classic, from the Mt. Diablo 1/2 with JoLynn. I know she will probably give me another "forget you!" for this picture. Such a potty mouth that Lindsay.

Soon we hit the 3 mile mark and climbed the 1000 ft dam.

Ron on the big climb being as supportive as the day is long. Which, interestingly enough, it how long it took me to climb that fucking dam.

See that face? I know it looks like a 'What the fuck is wrong with you? Get moving!' face, but he really wanted to be on the trail with me as long as possible. At least that is what I kept telling myself.

Four miles in, at the top of the dam, I decided Ron needed the full RBR experience (shut up, G) and we took some true badass runner style photos.

The view was lovely. Well, the part that is not eclipsed by my huge ass. *sigh*

Rawr! Sorry ladies, he is taken!

Let's just say our conversations and humor style are "not for everyone" but we laughed our way through the miles.

Ron is having his gait analyzed next week. Should be an interesting report. :)

After 2 hours and 45 minutes of hilarity, we finished the run laughing, smiling, and feeling strong.

The Finish

Katie was there at the finish line to cheer us in. She had braved the rain and her own cold to come out and help with race and cheer us on. Such a doll, that one! We had a great ride up and back and I always enjoy when we get to spend time together.

Katie and RBR post race

I had a great time. Ron is hilarious and fun and every time I see him he makes me laugh until my sides hurt. Thanks, man for a great run.

RBR and Ron, PunkRockRunner

I caught the blahs

2010-10-19T08:47:00.001-07:00

You know those days, when each day you wake up and tell yourself (and everyone unfortunate enough to have to listen your whiny ass), 'I think I am getting sick'?

And then you never actually get sick? You were just pissing and moaning for no reason, and you really have an acute case of the winter is coming, the days are getting shorter, your ass is getting wider blahs?

Yeah, me too.

I have those.

In spades.

I have decided that I am going to "snap out of it!" That is what everyone told me to do when I suffered through years of chronic depression, it must be possible!

Therefore, I am going to act as if I am leaving for Hawaii next week! (ok, I am really leaving in 2 months, but if I could convince myself last winter that my eating 40 donuts a day would cure my husband's cancer, I am pretty sure I can make my dumb ass believe something like a pushed up travel date.)

This new leaf started yesterday with the incessant singing of the "Baby Shampoo" song.

Like all traditions(and other family specific shit that no one finds funny, but we all feel compelled to share with people outside of our families anyway) no one remembers how it started, but I call those little travel shampoos, "baby shampoos." Several days before our first ever big vacation (i.e. our honeymoon) I was singing a made up song about the acquisition of baby shampoos while dancing throughout the house shaking said baby shampoos.

Hubby came in from the garage mid song, and the performance made him laugh so hard he lost all bad ass composure (this is a rarity in the RBR household, and is my Holy Grail, if you will)

One notable line in the Baby Shampoo song is "When you are sad and buh-luuuuuuue, you got to get you some Baby Shampoooooooo!"

(I called hubby to ask him what tune the Baby Shampoo song was sung to, and he said laughed and said, "You made that shit up. It is a Stacey Original." I will tell you it makes the next door neighbor's dogs howl and attracts tom cats to the front yard.)

I will spare you the rest of the lyrics. The are all inane and intended to be sung way off key.

Other RBR Original's include gems like:

The Cat Snack Song (sung at bedtime to get the cats rounded up. I am a HIT with the felines!)

What's Goosehead got to do with it? (Lucy, my dog, nickname is Goosehead. Again, no one remembers why)

and

It is Time Hortonator (another pet nickname for our cat Horton, and is sung when Horton protests his bedtime and the Cat Snack song fails to illicit the 'rounding up' response )

Horton, aka "The Fatonator," "Hortonator," "The Great Slim Boney", and occasionally when he is less than the perfect child, "You Fat Fucker"

How can I feel bad? I got me some Baby Shampoos!

Running Stuff

I am running the Tarantula Run Trail 1/2 marathon on Saturday with Ron (mostly to skeeve Lindsay out. Not sure which will be worse the spiders or Ron :) ) So that should be fun.

Ok, enough weirdness, Queen Random Shit, out!

Race Report: Golden Hills Trail Marathon - October 9, 2010

2010-10-10T07:33:00.000-07:00

Alternative Title: Why RBR is one lucky S.O.B

Details:

Total Distance: 26.65 miles (another very slight navigational mishap...)

Total Time: 7:12:45 (sounds awful, but I am REALLY happy with this)

Total Climb: 7,719 ft (according to USGS analysis of GPS data which I trust WAY more than Avocet Altimeter data for total climb, which they used to get the reported 5,000 ft of climb. I could go on a big, long winded diatribe about this but, I won't.... today, anyway)

Elevation Profile:

If it looks hard to you, you are right. If it looks like it is not that bad, you are wrong. 'Nuff said.

Pre-Race

JoLynn suggested this race to me when we were doing the Mt. Diablo 1/2 a couple of weekends ago. She usually runs it, but she had surgery a week ago and has not even been cleared to drive a car yet, so she was not going to be able to run it this year. I was skeptical about running it myself because I had seen the elevation profile and knew it was a really tough marathon course.

But then I figured, there is a 50 miler going on at the same time, meaning there was essentially no time cut off for the marathon, so, what the hell, I registered.

Plus it had a cool logo

Artsy and pretty, huh? Sadly, this will be the source of my one and only bitch about this race. You will have to read on for that.

Evidence of RBR's Lucky S.O.B-ness #1-Last week I was asked to introduce one of my favorite students for the Homecoming Court (Umm... I mean 'one of my students'. We teachers do not have favorites. We love all of our students equally. Yes ma'am, even your insolent, asshole child that tells me every fucking day how boring I and my class are.)

My 'I don't have a time cut off, just trot along and enjoy the course' marathon just turned into a 'Holy shit, if I am not done by 8 and a half hours I will have to show up for Homecoming "fresh" from a trail marathon and if I do not finish by 9 hours I will miss the goddamn thing altogether' marathon.

Anyone that reads my race reports knows that this was a very legitimate concern on my part. I played it safe and got a 'back up teacher' at the ready in case something went wrong (It was my Run Buddy, because she is AWESOME and this student loves her as well.) but, I told the student that I would do my very, very best to be done in time. His response, "Well, how long does a marathon take, like 3-4 hours? My mom ran Big Sur in 5 hours and she was 12 weeks pregnant with me."

Gotta love teenagers.

Anyhoo....

The Race

Evidence of RBR's Lucky S.O.B-ness #2 At the start, I was fortunate enough to get to meet some local runners: Theresa (ok, technically, I had met Theresa before, but never really chatted much with her), Jin, and Sharon. They were all tiny, little bird people that I was certain I would not see after the race began, but I was wrong.

I saw them at the finish.

They had been done for quite some time at that point.

Fucking, tiny ass bird people.

Whatever.

They were super sweet and Jin and Sharon are with the local chapter of "Moms in Motion", a running/biking/triathlon group which, in my opinion, should change their name to "Fast as Hell Moms that Kick Your Ass in Races, all the while Smiling and Chatting and Barely Breaking a Fucking Sweat", but apparently that would not fit on the t-shirt.

As you can see from the profile the course starts off with a 4 mile, almost 2000 ft climb. I knew I would end up hiking a lot of it and I hiked/ran to warm up my shins since they have been giving me some grief lately and it takes anywhere from 2-4 miles for me to stop swearing at them... I mean, for them to warm up and stop hurting.

At mile about mile 2 I stopped to take a picture of the beautiful vistas and a gal offered to take a picture of me with the view.

RBR and the view of the East Bay in Berkeley

Evidence of RBR's Lucky S.O.B-ness #3 Her name is Melissa and we started to chat it up. She was from this area and was very familiar with the trails we would be running. The course was a point to point that ran through 4 major East Bay Parks. We started with the standard "running resume" type chat where you compare races you have done, ranked by cuteness of t-shirt (what? That is not how you guys do the "running resume" talk?)

Pretty view, from I am not sure where, I was working pretty hard.

It was not long before I realized that she is a very experienced trail runner, faster and fitter than me, and quite possibly my ticket to getting to homecoming on time. I decided if I could, I would try to run on her coattails until at least the 13.1 mile mark and then I would most likely be able to finish in 8 hours. I was pretty sure I could not hang any longer than that.

I know, that sounds scheming and selfish. But wait, it gets worse. I also decided to not tell her my plan in case she was unsure about running that far with my annoying ass. She was stuck with me now!

Melissa owing the trail and lookin' sassy!

Plus she knew EVERYONE. The marathon course ran from the 50 mile course turn around to the finish. So we saw all of the 50 milers as they were heading out. I swear 5 minutes would go go by without someone shouting "Melissa!" and giving her a hug. Running into an aid station with her was like being a roadie for a Rock Star.

You will note that the pictures stop after the 4 mile climb because they would all look like this:

Melissa set the pace and I hung on for dear life.

I think my end of the conversation for most of the day was:

*gasp/cough/sputter* uh huh.

*gasp/cough/sputter* That's cool.

She had tons of great advice for me in my training for my first 50 miler.

*gasp/cough/sputter* uh huh.

*gasp/cough/sputter* That's cool.

She had just gotten engaged

*gasp/cough/sputter* uh huh.

*gasp/cough/sputter* That's cool.

...and so on, for 25 miles. Well, that is not totally true, there was some pissing and moaning about the trail markings getting erased and going up, then down, then back up, the French Trail. (see that nasty little spike at about mile 17, that is the French trail. We only did the up and back for about half of it, before re-climbing it, but still unpleasant)

Evidence of RBR's Lucky S.O.B-ness #4 At *mumble mumble* miles (amazing how I can not remember anything about this run. I guess I was working hard) we saw Cynthia heading out. I had met her at Rio del Lago and we had chatted earlier this week about this race. She was getting over a cold. She looked great, so I hoped she was feeling better. I was pretty stoked to see her and gave her a hug. She was wearing an ADORABLE run skirt outfit. Damn, I wish I could have snapped a picture, but Melissa was moving quick and I did not want to get dropped. I hope you had a great race, girl!

Evidence of RBR's Lucky S.O.B-ness #5 The trail was beautiful and ever changing. We ran through everything from open fire roads with views of the entire East Bay, to spongy, fern lined redwood trails, to rocky, technical single track etched into the side of the mountain. It was a stunning course and even though it was a challenging run the miles flew by (that, obviously, is a figurative, not a literal, statement)

Evidence of RBR's Lucky S.O.B-ness #6 At mile 17 we were getting passed by the leading age groupers for the 50 mile race (they were at mile 41). One guy is running through the cattle gate and he turns to face us and it is Don (Running and Rambling)!!

This is the man that started it all for me. Now, this is going to sound creepy, even for me, but Don is my first ultrarunning crush. He was training for Western States in 2008 (the one that was canceled due to the California wildfires Link to his Western States 2009 Report it is a GREAT read. Funny, informative, and really gives you a voyeuristic window into 100 milers)

I had started reading his blog because he is a triathlete, a great writer, funny as all get out, and as it turns out, a hell of a nice guy. Then he started running ultras and I was mesmerized. I had heard of these things, but he was the first "real" person (translation: person that can have a life, talk about something other than running, AND be an ultrarunner. A Damn fast one at that) Anyhoo... he was the first real person that did such things.

I know, I am gushing again. I will stop.

Back to the run...

Melissa kept me going by telling me that when we hit Lake Chabot the climbing and punishing downhills would stop.

The Promised Land - Lake Chabot. I almost cried at the sight of it and because I had to run faster to catch up with Melissa when I stopped to take this shot.

The Finish

Heading into the finish, I was actually pretty proud of how hard I ran this and that I was able to keep up with a clearly stronger runner for 24 miles.

Melissa and I at the finish. I was worried that I would not be able to finish in 8 hours, yet she got me across the line in 7:12:45.

Evidence of RBR's Lucky S.O.B-ness #7 I was feeling really good and we came in running strong. The first thing I heard as we emerged from the trail and entered the finish chute was Jo Lynn yelling my name and I turned to see her cheering and smiling from her crutches.

She was not even cleared to drive yet and she came out to cheer me in. I mean, seriously? How did I luck out with such awesome friends? Even if she is too damn gorgeous for me to be taking this close up of a picture with.

Jo Lynn's high school buddy, Lori (or is Laurie?) was there. We met at the Nitro 1/2 and it was great to see her again. She was whining about not being hot enough to run with me (I am the hot girl magnet of running) with her gorgeous red hair and legs up to her neck, I am certain I will lose sleep pitying her. *eyeroll*

Evidence of RBR's Lucky S.O.B-ness #8 I even finished early enough that there was real food left. No watermelon rinds for this girl

shhh, I am aware there was a 50 miler still going on. Just give me this one.

It was a great race and I am really glad I did it. It was well organized, there were well stocked aide stations, great volunteers and a simply gorgeous course. The food after the race was to die for. Ok, mostly the cake and cookies, but the burger was pretty good.

Evidence of RBR's Lucky S.O.B-ness #9 I made it to Homecoming. I even had time for a shower.

Two hours post marathon. I am even wearing heels!

Alright, it was not all sunshine and roses and this IS Run Bitch Run, so here are the only two things that were not so great:

WARNING: Boys, avert your eyes. This is an female over-sharing moment.

Ok, I warned you.

At about mile 12, I started my period. With a fucking vengeance. Fortunately, there was a park bathroom within a mile for homemade maxi-pad application and climbing causes enough pain that it helped with the cramps. And let's just say, black spandex is good for more than just detracting attention from your ass. Unpleasant, to say the least, and a first for me during a race.

Ok, boys can come back...

At the end we got a bag with our finishers shirt. Remember the pretty, artsy logo? The one that was on the volunteers' hats and the aprons of the volunteers cooking the food? That logo?

It was completely absent from the large, unisex, butt ugly shirt I received

That is it. Nothing on the back. Nothing else on the front. Four orange words and 2010. It looks bluish. It is not. It is maximally unflattering gray. Oh, and we got a "Hey, I went to the Prom in 1982!" wineglass. Whoopie.

All in all...

I met some great people. Visited with some old friends. I even kind of "raced" this one, finishing almost an hour faster than I had hoped for, and came in feeling great. I am certainly one lucky S.O.B.

You know you are tired when....

2010-10-04T06:10:00.000-07:00

1. Even though you enter the same alarm code into the same key pad every goddamn day to get into your classroom, you stare blankly at the damn thing having become so exhausted that you can not begin to remember how to operate it.

Lots of condescending emails throughout the day about how to use your alarm code and how you should not arrive before 5 am if you are too fucking stupid to operate the alarm

2. Your teenage students suddenly become HILARIOUS. I mean, laughing so hard you are crying, with snot pouring out your nose level HILARIOUS.

"Ummm... are you ok, Ms. R? Should we call the office?"

3. The janitor finds you at 4 pm on Friday afternoon, with your head down on the desk, eyes wide open, yet oddly unresponsive.

"Ummm... are you ok, Ms. R? Should I call the office?"

4. You decide at 3 am to Google people from high school that you would not cross the street to piss on if they were on fire. Yes, this includes my ex-boyfriend. They are all doing AWESOME, by the way.

Super. That is exactly what I was hoping.

5. A burned out light bulb makes you try to choke the lamp and call it names that would make a Hell's Angel blush.

No, SQ, I do not think a lamp can really be a c#*k$ucker. I am just saying...
(you know it is bad when I use symbols)

6. The thought of purchasing a new lamp shade (see #5) is too overwhelming, so you throw out the lamp and sit in the dark.

"Ummm... honey, what happened to the lamp?"

"It broke."

7. You become convinced that insomnia is the purgatory you deserve for your former life as a drug addict, since now you can not take medication to help you sleep.

Sorry, doll, you used up all your sleeping hours passed out. Now you get to be awake FOREVER.

Treadmills, Meatheads, and Boobs! Oh my!

2010-09-29T14:15:00.000-07:00

I almost hate to admit this, but ...

I once again joined a fucking gym. Yes, "once again" as in, this is not my first time signing away my dignity and $35.99/month to subject myself to the 'over-tanned, over-pumped, meathead and huge-breasted, yet tiny-assed, boy short wearing' end of the fitness spectrum.

Historically, I have found that the gym is SUPER good for my self esteem. And every time I have extracted myself from an automatic payment nightmare at XYZ Corporate gym after paying months and months worth of dues long after I have stopped going, I tell myself, "Never again! I hate the gym. Even more, I hate PAYING for the gym when I do not go to the gym."

But, alas, I joined. Here is my explanation for this seemingly self-destructive behavior. I have a new schedule this year that is making it much more difficult and often impossible for me to work out after school during the week.

I get up really early and can run before school. As a matter of fact, I used to, but I have become a chicken shit and can not seem to make myself run around my gorgeous, and high end neighborhood anymore.

Also, in my palatial 900 sq ft house there is no where to put a treadmill, unless I really want to class the joint up by having one in the kitchen (I don't know why, but it has a large kitchen for a small house *shrugs*) Therefore, I joined the gym.

I have gone three times this week (which may be a gym attendance record for me) at 4 am and although running on the treadmill is a little slice of hell, I found that the 'Roid monsters and Barbie dolls tend to not be in the gym at 4 am so I am not as self conscious and pissy. Beautiful people, need their beauty sleep evidently.

I have to admit that Formulaic calling me out on my training mileage (he did not really 'call me out.' He innocently asked about it, but I have to be dramatic. It is how I roll) is what made me finally take stock of my current "training." I had to ask myself, "what is my goal and am I doing what I need to meet it?"

The answer was a resounding, "No."

Hence, the dreaded gym.

The Goal: (It has been alluded to, but not spelled out because my psyche and self esteem have taken a few hits this year and I could not handle any further failures)

I want to do a 50 mile run in 2011.

The reason for this (as if I need to justify why a fat, slow, perpetually bottom 10% finisher would want to run 50 miles since it sounds like a marriage made in heaven!) is that I want to see if I can and to see if I like it.

It is really the same reason I attempted Ironman (for the record, the answer to both of those questions in that case was another resounding "no", but I am glad for all the the experiences it afforded me. Well, except for that stupid, fucking swim, but whatever)

I am still undecided on which 50 miler to attempt. The leading contenders are Rocky Raccoon (Pros: flat course, looooooong time limit due to 100 miler at same time, I get to see IronJane, Misty, and S. Baboo Cons: In Texas and hubby is not loving the traveling, the race is in February and that limits my time to train) and American River 50 miler (Pros: Local, one of the flatter 50 milers for California, the race is in April so more time to train Cons: 26 miles of it are on the road, 13 hour cut off [this is the biggest 'con'], April may still be too soon training wise)

Hubby Update

Hubby is doing ok. He was doing great, the effects of the radiation were subsiding and he was getting his energy back, but then he had to get his last hormone deprivation therapy shot and now he is feeling shitty again. I am taking solace in the fact that this is the last round of this.

*sigh*

(This part is rambling and a bit of a downer. Feel free to skip)

I struggle sometimes with how honest to be about all of this. Here on the blog and in real life. On one hand it has helped me immensely to read honest accounts from the wives and lovers of men with prostate cancer on the other hand it is about my husband and me during the scariest and hardest time of our life together. And some of the topics and issues are, for lack of a better expression, not cool. Not cool at all.

When he was diagnosed we started feverishly researching everything we could find on prostate cancer. In our travels we came across several forums for people undergoing prostate cancer treatment. These forums offered a wealth of information and are chock full of really, really kind people.

Can you feel the 'but' coming?

But, reading day in and day out, about the horrors and complications, both short term and long term, that are associated with prostate cancer and prostate cancer treatment turned out to be a recipe for insanity and depression in the RBR household. So I forbade him from reading them (I sound like such a shrew, huh?) and I stopped reading them myself.

But then we entered a new epoch, one that is hard to talk him about, one that is even hard for me to think about and I returned to the forums. It has proved to have the same effect as before, except like an addict I keep going back expecting it to be better, and to find the answer I want.

I have yet to find that answer, but I do find myself working 18 hour days again, which is historically a sign that I am not doing great mentally.

So once again, I deleted all the bookmarks.

I do not have a wrap up for this. I still have not found the answer. I just know where I won't find it.

Race Report: Fall Showdown Trail 1/2 Marathon - September 25, 2010

2010-09-26T09:40:00.000-07:00

Ron (PunkRockRunner) asked me if I was interested in this race last week and I thought 1. it would be nice to see him again and 2. a flat 1/2 marathon would be a nice recovery long run after beating the shit out of myself at Rio del Lago and Mt. Diablo.

Well, I was half right. It was nice to see Ron.

Elevation profile for the Fall Showdown

It was no Mt. Diablo, but flat it was not. Plus the 90 degree heat added a level of difficulty that I could have done without.

Details

Total distance: 13.35 miles (I took a slight detour, but it was NOT my fault this time!)
Total Time: 2:52:34
Total climb: 1520'
Total Number of Bloggy Buddies that dropped my ass AGAIN: 1 (Oh, we will get to that!)

Pre-race

I snookered LA Run Buddy into going with me. She was going to run the 5K and then work on some stuff for school while she waited (and waited, and waited, as it would turn out) for me to finish the half marathon.

Ron's picture of us from after the race. Mental note: Always have pictures taken by people freakishly taller than you. Very slimming. Me likey!

We met up with Ron. He was easy to find in his signature crazy ass hair. LA Run Buddy asked, "Do you see your friend?" and I said "Yeah, he's the dude with the crazy hair over at registration."

Race

There were like 20 people doing the half marathon and frankly not a regular sized person in the bunch (i.e. all skinny ass runner types).

Great, I get be last. Again.

I can not tell you how many people say to me that they would never do a race because they are worried they will be last. Or tell me as we are waiting at the start line, all nervous and jittery, "I just don't want to be LAST. God, that would be AWFUL."

Meh. It is not so bad.

Especially after the 15th or 16th time, you barely notice anymore. Plus the people at the finish line are usually REALLY nice to you. Probably because they finally get to go home, but whatever.

Anyhoo, back to the race...

When we met up with Ron that morning, he immediately tells me that he is going to run this with me.

[Pause for collective "Riiiiiiiiiiiight" from the audience]

Yeah, that was my response too.

Start of the race. It is so blurry because he was running away from me so fast.

I hate to be a total bitch (ok, no I don't...), but to draw a little comparison, Willie lasted 4 miles with me at SF Marathon, and this is Ron's and my second encounter of less than 20 yards. The first time can be written off as "this never happens to me," but two times? I am just saying...

Ok, ok. I will give the guy a break. He did say he thought LA Run Buddy was running with me and he did seem pretty sorry when I gave him hell about it when I saw him at mile 6 (his mile 8, whatever) , and then again at the finish line, and then again in the parking lot. Ok, and once more via text message. I am just sweetness and light, aren't I? Can't imagine why he keeps dropping me. *shrugs*

Prettiness from the trail to break up text block. ADHD Blogger

The course ran along the San Pablo Reservoir and it was part paved and part trail. It was a really pretty course and not a super tough run, but my legs were just tired. I suffered for the first three miles before my legs finally warmed up. I always love the internal dialogue that goes on when I am suffering early on in a run:

RBR: My shins hurt. I think it is shin splints. I should stop so as to not risk further injury.

Rational RBR: You are not even at one mile yet. You will warm out of it.

RBR: My ankle hurts. I think it is my Achilles. I better stop now before I really injure myself.

Rational RBR: Mile 1.1. You are fine. Suck it up.

RBR: I feel a twinge on the outside of my knee. Clearly, this is IT Band Syndrome. I better walk now.

Rational RBR: Mile 2, Drama Llama. How did you EVER run even one marathon, much less 11, being this much of a whiny bitch? Just run, for god's sake!

And finally my legs warmed out of it and I started to enjoy the run. Just in time to get lost.

Now, before you roll your eyes and say "Christ, they mark these courses. What is your malfunction?" I was lead astray! I was happily running down the trail when two gals came running back toward me saying that we missed a turn and that the trail dead ends ahead. Hmmm... I really thought there was only one way to go, but since I do not have a great track record for staying on course during runs, I listened to them and headed back the way we came. I was right, there was only one way to go.

The pretty bridge we had to return to see that yes, in fact we had gone the right way the first time

Apparently in the 20 minute diatribe that the race director was giving us before the race, he mentioned that we would have to go through a gate at about mile 4. Why exactly do race directors do this? They gather the crowd for a pre-race talk that invariably goes through an exhaustive turn by turn of the entire course that sounds like this:

"At about mile 6.743 you will come to a four way intersection, veer slightly to the left, not to the left, mind you, just slightly to the left and follow the trail to the point where you find a fallen log. DO NOT turn there. Wait until you see the fourth fallen log and then go right....."

Seriously? Does anyone remember what they say?

I always feel as if I should have brought a note pad and a pen. I suppose it is so when you come back broken and bloody from falling off a cliff because the trail abruptly ended, they can shrug at you and say condescendingly, "We told you to go right at the fourth fallen log."

Whatever. It was a relatively short diversion and as I previously went over, I was not winning this thing, so I was not too worried about it.

The rest of the run was beautiful. It got hot and I was tired, but all in all I had a great time, met some really nice folks, and when I finally dragged my big ass to the finish line I was shocked to find out I won second place in my age group.

Bling Shot: LA Run Buddy won her age group in the 5K, Ron won his age group in the 1/2 marathon, and little Ms RBR got second in her age group in the 1/2 marathon. (Photo by Captivating Sports Photos, some of the nicest guys in the business!)

Ok, there were only 3 in my age group and the only gal I beat was injured and had to walk the last 3 miles, but whatever, I WON something!

I love this guy. Thanks, man, for always making me smile. Next time I know you can go the distance ;)

Wolf Pack Events

This was my first race with this group and they were some seriously nice people and put on a really nice event. I know, I always say that, but in general, if I did not like something or someone, or did not have an opinion towards them either way, I will not mention them here. (Not by name at least ;) Unless they piss me off, then all bets are off )

Pros

1. Well marked course
2. Plenty of aid stations with teenagers running the stations, but adults about to keep them on task. (Always a good idea, in my opinion)
3. Cold water at aid stations
4. Really sweet and enthusiastic volunteers
5. Still had food left after the last runner came in, and no, not just rat ass watermelon rinds.

Cons

1. Cotton t-shirt (honestly, would have preferred a tech shirt over a medal or lower price option to opt out of the t-shirt all together.)
2.Small bottled waters seemed like a waste.
3. Not enough slow runners.... ok, can't really blame them for that one

SpiderGirl

2010-09-24T10:28:00.000-07:00

No, no more tarantulas, Lindsay. You do not have to say "forget you" (Who says that, BTW? I mean, besides 11 year old girls being "bad" at church. Dude, you crack me up)

This post is about the BRC 1 class (Beginning Rock Climbing) I am taking with my Run Buddy (I still don't have a new name for her despite the fact we have not run together in well over 2 years...)

She asked me to go with her and I adore her, so I said yes. Plus, I did not have enough athletic endeavors that I suck at, so I needed to start a new one.

Mission accomplished! Because I do, truly, suck at it. (Shut up, G)

Now, it is not the actual climbing part that I am bad at. (I know, you are thinking, WTF? What the hell else is there in rock climbing besides climbing? I am getting there Ms./Mr. Impatient don't get your panties in a twist!)

Truth be told, I am kind of freakishly strong for a woman (Aforementioned "Shut up, G" still applies) I may not be the fragile, delicate flower of a woman that many find desirable, but if you need someone to schlep their end of the couch up a flight of stairs on moving day? Then I am your girl.

Because of this, I can muscle my way up the wall for pretty much any of the beginning climbs (until about 5.8, for any climbing types out there) But, as the climbs get more difficult, there is apparently technique to this rock climbing thing.

This 'technique' involves, graceful, dance-like movements as you ascend the wall.

Graceful and dance-like? Hmmm ... Not my strong suit. I have humiliated myself at enough Jazzercise and step aerobics classes in my day to know that. Which leads to exchanges between me and my instructor that sound like this:

Cute as a Button 21 year old instructor (Hereinafter referred to as CB21yo): "RBR glide to the left and open your hips away from the wall as you pull up."

RBR clinging desperately to the wall: "What the fuck are you talking about? And why do you wait until I am 20 feet up this thing to start talking to me?"

CB21yo: "What did you say? I can't hear you"

RBR, yells in perky sing song voice: "Okay, sure! No problem" *grunts, scrambles*

CB21yo: "Umm... okay. Kind of like that. Straight arms! Let your skeleton bear the weight not your biceps!"

RBR: "Ummm... simple physics, Sport. You can not pull up with straight arms!"

CB21yo: What?

RBR, yells : "Okay!" *squeals as she almost slips off the fucking wall trying to simultaneously, glide, pull, open hips away from the wall, and hang on straight arms*

I actually really enjoy the class. Our classmates were all pretty shy and reserved at first, but between Run Buddy and I, we got them to be the loudest class in the gym. We cheer and clap for each other when we finish a route. (Ok, and a few wolf whistles and cat calls, since Run Buddy and I are soooo mature)

When I am not being told everything I am doing wrong from a super cute, 21 year old guy that is standing below me looking at the super UN-cute things the climbing harness is doing to my 41 year old ass, I feel kinda like spidergirl crawling up the wall.

Everyone needs to feel like a superhero once in awhile.

*Side Note: Don't worry. I promise no RBR in a full body spandex suit pictures are forthcoming. That would be way scarier than the tarantula.

Race Report: Mt. Diablo Trail 1/2 Marathon - September 19, 2010

2010-09-19T19:58:00.000-07:00

I first saw this event on my buddy Jo Lynn's blog and I thought it sounded fun. After I turned my feet into hamburger last weekend I did not think I would be able to do it.

Then she emailed to see if I wanted to run it with her... What can I say? I succumbed to peer pressure. I am such a sucker for a pretty face!

Spoiler alert! We made it. Jo Lynn at Mt. Diablo summit.

I knew I would be slow, I knew it might hurt, but I also knew we would have fun and it would be beautiful. I was right on all counts.

Details:
Total Distance: 13.93 miles
Total Time: 4:22:23 (see the elevation profile before you get all judgey!)
Total Elevation Gain: 3822 ft. (according to USGS)

Run

The run climbs up Mt Diablo and then back down.

Elevation Profile. Please note the 1000 ft increments on the y-axis.

For the first 2 miles my legs felt like shit. I have not run all week due to my battered feet. I could not even ride until Saturday because my feet were like fat, swollen sausages and did not fit in my cycling shoes.

I know, so cute.

My legs warmed out of that just in time for the climb to start to get hard. Most of those next 5 miles were not really runnable, so we hiked to the summit and enjoyed the beautiful views.

I have never been up here and the landscape was breathtaking.

Mt Diablo is known for blistering heat, but today it was overcast, cool and perfect running weather.

She is too damn cute! Approaching the summit

Rare tree lined portion of the trail

By the time we got to the summit it was socked in with fog. Awesome.

Ok, I will admit. It was not all a power slog to the summit and back. We found some time to goof around a little.

One of the three tarantulas we saw. Jo Lynn was shocked I did not want to pick him up. Little known fact: RBR is a total wimp about spiders. Yep, most punk ass biology teacher EVER!

A den in the side of the mountain. There were no critters inside, except for the rare, sightless pink chested RBR. (Obligatory lame biologist joke.)

Then there was the biggest pine cone I have EVER seen. All of the conifers up here were scrawny and rat ass at best, but they spit out some giganto pine cones.

We ran down the mountain at what felt like a brisk pace, but according to Garmin was only brisk in comparison to the ascent. Oh well. Whatevs.

In the last mile we were passed by the winner of the marathon. So yes, the gal that ran twice the distance we did passed us and finished before us.

This no longer shocks me.

All in all a great run with a great buddy. Thanks, man.

Crew Report: Rio Del Lago 100 mile Run - September 11, 2010

2010-09-16T06:49:00.000-07:00

Alternate Title: Superman Found his Cape

This weekend I had the esteemed pleasure of crewing for S. Baboo, at the Rio Del Lago 100 mile Run. This was my first crewing experience of any sort and the first 100 mile run I had ever been to. I have had a hard time processing all the emotions and experiences I had in doing this, so we will just have to see if I can put it to words here. I am certain I can not do it justice, but I will do my best.

Backstory ('cuz I can never just get right to the story. Don't act like you are surprised)

I "met" S. Baboo through reading his wife's blog, The Athena Diaries, which if you are a late onset athlete like myself, you should really read from start to finish. In reading her blog I found myself inspired to do and try things athletically that I never even knew existed and certainly never thought I was capable of. (I know, gush, gush. I decided a while back life was too short not to tell people what I really feel. If that makes me a puss, so be it.)

It may or may not be known that I am a bit of an ultrarunning groupie (well, not known to you unless you are a holder of one of the multiple restraining orders against me, but I digress...)

Anyhoo... when S. Baboo started running ultramarathons I started following and commenting on his blog. He has this amazing writing style that lets you see what he saw and feel what he felt during his runs. Reading his race reports was like I was on the run as well. (More gushing, apologies...)

Fast forward to last spring and he announces that he is going to train for the Lead ville 100 miler. I believe my comment was:

Oh. My. Fucking. God!!!! LEADVILLE!!!!

Such a class act that RBR.

Then he announces that he will be coming out to California to run the Rio Del Lago 100 miler in September, a mere 3 weeks after crazy-ass Leadville, and asks if I want to crew (ok, 'he asked', 'I begged'... toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe...)

Uh... HELLS to the YEAH, I want to crew!

One problem, I have never crewed and have never been to one of these things and other than reading a bunch of 100 miler race reports, I don't know shit about ultrarunning or crewing.

I am sure it will be fine.

[Star struck RBR did not take a picture with S. Baboo]

The fact that I do not have one single picture of me and the S. Baboo to put here makes me sad.

Race day

As you know already, Misty and I ran the 50k (52.5 K, still bitter) that morning. Both races took off at the same time. We planned to finish (I will not even tell you what we projected our time to be. Let's leave it at, we were WAY off and possibly high on crack when we projected our finish times) and then shower, grab food, and head out to crew.

We had hoped to catch him at the Auburn Damn Overlook on his second time through which would have been at about 44 miles, but we did not catch him until Rattlesnake Bar which was at 55 miles.

Rattlesnake Bar Aide Station

Little did we know that during those 11 miles from Auburn Dam Overlook to Rattlesnake Bar, S. Baboo had suffered greatly. A runner came in calling for Misty and telling us that her runner needed his headlight. She grabbed hers from the car and headed up the trail to give it to him.

I looked at my watch. It had been dark for at least 30 minutes. That is a long time to be alone on the trail in the dark. My heart sank as I realized that had I been faster today, we would have gotten to Auburn Dam or at least the Maidu aide station at mile 47, and he would not have had to run in the dark without his headlamp.

This is not the last time I would have that guilt haunting me.

RBR Crewing lesson #1: Do not run a 50K on the day that you are crewing for someone in a 100 miler. (Or get a lot faster. I will admit the former is more likely.)

He and Misty came walking into the aide station. He was cold and his stomach was revolting on him. He asked for a blanket and I ran (ok, waddled, sore feets, remember?) to the car to get a sleeping bag I had brought. It was a little shocking to see him hurting so much 55 miles in. All I could think of was, "Holy Christ! He has 45 miles to go."

I was silent. I did not know what to do or say. Misty ran the show. I felt about as useful as tits on a bull.

RBR Crewing lesson #2: When you do not know what to say or do, shut up and take orders. (Ok, that one is kind of a life lesson)

After his stomach had some time to settle he ate the sandwich we brought him and he started to chat with us and the volunteers. He was clearly more comfortable and cracking jokes, but he kept telling us that there was nothing left in his legs, they were just done.

No one talked about him dropping and no one talked about him continuing. We just listened to him tell us he was done and got him soda.

Then all of a sudden he got up wrapped in the sleeping bag and said he was going.

"I am just going to walk and I will be nice and warm in this" he told us, as he headed to the trail.

I grabbed his hydration pack and Misty scrambled to get ready to pace him to the next aid station. We got him another shirt and took the sleeping bag off (obviously he was a little loopy, 5 miles to the next aid station with a sleeping bag was probably not a good idea, but I felt terrible that we did not have anything warmer to put on him)

RBR Crewing lesson #3: ALWAYS have warm and/or dry clothes for your runner, even at a hot race.

I thought to myself, "We were honestly going to send him back out there?!" as he wandered down the trail back into the darkness.

Horseshoe Bar Aide Station (1.93 miles from Rattlesnake Bar)

After navigating a 30 minute delay stuck behind the horseback course sweeps, I finally got to the next aide station only to have missed them by about 2 minutes according to the aide station volunteer.

Super.

I rock at this crewing thing. I am certain he will want me at ALL of his races from now on. I headed off to the next aide station which was about 6 miles of tough, technical trail for them and about 2 miles driving in a cushy car for me.

Twin Rocks Aide Station

I set up a chair to wait knowing that they had those 6 miles of technical trail to navigate in the dark and I may be here awhile. He left Rattlesnake Bar at about 8:45, 1 hour and 15 minutes before the cut off, the cut off at Twin Rocks was at 12:15 am.

Well, it was originally at 12:15 am.

While I was sitting there there was a very worried looking man at the aide station. Come to find out his wife was lost between Horseshoe Bar and Twin Rocks. She was over an hour late to pick up her pacer at Twin Rocks. The race officials sent someone out looking for her. About 11:30pm she came in, clearly distressed, but very relieved to have found the aide station. The trail ribbon sabotage earlier in the day, and the fact that the ribbons were not reflective left her wandering alone lost in the darkness for over an hour.

Dear God. I know how pissed I was in broad daylight when I got lost and I knew I was only about 2 miles from the finish. I can not imagine how scary that must have been for her.

Her husband hugged her and she hurriedly babbled her story:

Lost Girl: "There were no ribbons. And, and, the ribbons were not reflective!
And, and you could not see them until you were right on top of them! There was NO ONE out there! I was so lost."

*catches breath*

"I just wanted to be here. It was so, so ..."

*her voice catches*

Husband of Lost Girl, looking to console her: "I have soup"

Lost Girl: "It was soooo awfu...." she stops short and looks up at him. "You have soup?

[blink, blink]

Lost Girl: Do you have a ham sandwich?"

Husband of Lost Girl: "No, but I have soup. I can get you a ham sandwich for the next aide station."

Lost Girl: "Ok. I want soup" and with that the crisis was over.

She drank her soup, picked up her pacer and trotted out of the aide station.

RBR Crewing Lesson #4: These are a different breed of people. You could have not gotten me back out on that trail with a cattle prod or even promises of half naked firemen waiting to rub my feet and hand feed me Pop Tarts at the next aide station. (Scary little view into my fantasy life, huh?)

RBR Crewing lesson #5: Have pacers for your runner during the time when it is dark that is when they need them most.

After that they extended the cut offs at each aide station. It seemed unclear as to exactly what the extension was, but S. Baboo and Misty showed up right at 12:15 am. He was in and out quickly. He physically looked better than at Rattlesnake Bar, but his mood was dour at best.

Negro Bar Aide Station

After two more aide stations, we noticed that he had slowed considerably and his mood had not improved. At Negro Bar, he came in looking like the walking dead. He was freezing cold and his gait had been reduced to a shuffle. I was amazed at how he could still joke with us and the volunteers. He is actually quite hilarious.

At this point, I was consumed with guilt that I could not pace for him. Misty had already paced about eight miles and her feet were done. I had not paced one step. My blisters made it hard to even walk small distances, but in sending him out there alone I felt like a sadistic kid that enjoyed pulling wings off bugs.

Watching him move slowly and painfully off into the darkness once again, I thought, "This is crazy. We need to pull him out of this." Misty kept telling me "We just need to get him to the dawn. When the dawn hits he will be a new man."

I was starting to have some serious doubts that we were not just torturing this guy.

Hazel Bluff Aide Station

All bad at Hazel Bluff, but he trudged on.

I felt like a random, worthless spectator to his misery: "Good luck, Big Guy!" *smacking him on the ass* "See you at the next aide station. You want us to get you anything at Starbuck's?"

Sheesh.

*for the record, I did NOT smack him on the ass, despite the fact that Misty and I both agreed that with all of his crazy running, he has quite a nice one. ;)

Mountain Lion Knoll Aide Station

Dawn had finally arrived and we waited at the aide station for S. Baboo. We asked the head of hte aide station (hell of a nice guy, by the way. Top notch volunteers at this thing) if S. Baboo had passed the last aide station.

Cool Aide Station Dude: Number 50? We do not have any information about number 50. We are waiting on 2 runners, 22 and 23.

Misty and I started to worry that they had pulled him from the race.

He called the previous aide station and after a little back and forth, they announced he was still in the race and about 15 minutes out. Some mental math told me he had made up some serious time.

Misty: Maybe hs should not have done this so soon after Leadville.

Cool Aide Station Dude: He ran Leadville? This year?! Like 3 weeks ago? Damn. That is crazy.

RBR: And a marathon on Monday

Cool Aide Station Dude: Wow, what is he? Superman?

Misty: I keep telling him that just because we call him Superman does not mean he has to prove it every time.

And as if on cue, another volunteer announces, "We have a runner coming up."

S. Baboo comes trotting up the trail, smiling and looking like he was out for a Sunday jog.

Cool Aide Station Dude *smiling*: Looks like Superman found his cape.

Misty and RBR: *screaming and cheering*

Hazel Bluff Aide Station (Return)

JT (JohnnyTri) had called us (when we were at Starbuck's. Don't judge me! I had blisters and was tired, and I needed coffee) and told us that his runner had dropped. Misty told him S. Baboo was still in the race and JT offered to pace him from Hazel Bluff to the finish.

I thought, "Thank Sweet Baby Jesus! He won't have to run alone anymore"

We got to Hazel Bluff and JT is there looking fresh as a flower. I looked like 10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound sack, yet he had been up all night, running over 24 miles in the pitch black with a sick runner, and there he is looking all handsome and perky. Fucker.

S. Baboo came running in looking like a million dollars and under the original 8:35 am cut off. Misty was 100% correct, the dawn and breathed new life into him and he was making up time fast! The aide station volunteers could not believe he was the same runner they had seen suffering so much only hours before.

With his pacer in tow, S. Baboo took off down the trail. For the first time since Rattlesnake Bar I smiled as he ran off. He was going to complete his second 100 miler in under a month.

I will never doubt Misty again. The girl knows her man!

RBR Crewing lesson #6: Make sure there is at least one person on your crew that REALLY knows your runner and/or is an experienced ultra crew member. The suffering is hard to watch and you need someone that knows when it is ok to let them go and when to pull the plug. I would have pulled the plug at Rattlesnake and I would have been dead wrong.

Negro Bar Aide Station (return)

Moments after we arrived at the next aide station Misty's phone rang. It was JT. S. Baboo had dropped him 2 miles in, on an uphill. He was running 8 min miles uphill after over 90 miles of torture.

Jesus.

A few minutes later S. Baboo comes flying, and I mean FLYING, into the Negro Bar aide station. He refilled his water bottles, grabbed a snack and took off. We had to cheer from the car he was so goddamn fast.

I finally felt like I could take a picture. Photographing his suffering through the night was too much for me to contemplate. Don't worry, now that I know exactly how tough this son of a bitch is, next time I will get a photo log of the amazingness!

The Finish

Misty jumped in to pace him the last 3 miles and I drove back to Cavitt school to wait at the finish. It was getting hot and he had slowed, but was still making up time.

And then the man that had hit teh Hazel Bluff Aide station, half dead and almost an hour over the cut off came barreling into the finish chute over an hour UNDER the cut off

100.28 miles in 28:45:10

Un-fucking-believeable

S. Baboo, his buckle, and pacer extraordinaire and genuinely nice guy, JT

Superman found his cape, indeed.

Race Report: Rio Del Lago 50K - September 11, 2010

2010-09-13T06:03:00.000-07:00

Alternative Title: Stupid, Fucking Sand: A Cautionary Tale

Drunk on my course PR at San Francisco, I agreed to run the Rio Del Lago 50k with Misty. I had already begged shamelessly to be allowed .... errr, I mean, agreed to crew for her hubby, S. Baboo, who was doing the 100 miler that day.

I am going to write up my race report for the RDL 50k first and then tell the story of my very first 100 mile ultramarathon crewing experience later. I will say now though, that it was an incredible experience. I need some time to process it all.

Details

Total miles: 50K+ (~32 miles, possibly more. There was a navigational mishap)

Total time: 9:59:43 (updated with chip time. Sub 10! Woo hoo! Stop rolling your eyes, SQ. It is rude)

Pre-race

I decided to wait until I would hit maximal traffic heading up to Roseville on Friday. It gave me time to think, reflect, and commune with my fellow drivers. Much needed serenity was gained as I inched my way through the three and a half hour drive. After exchanging loving honks and hand gestures with the courteous and patient drivers of California, as you can probably imagine, I was almost zen like when I arrived at the hotel.

I met up with Misty and her hubby S. Baboo for a little dinner. I had met them once before about 2 years ago when they were out here for the Vineman Full Iron (S. Baboo) and Barb's Race 1/2 Iron (Misty). We talked for about 4 seconds and then were seated at opposite sides of the table of about 12 people. So we did not really "meet", as much as we saw each other and had dinner at the same restaurant. I was actually pretty nervous about meeting them this time, one on one (I was going to type "one on two" since I met both of them but, I thought that might sound a little more risque than the reality which was we ate Mac and Cheese in their hotel room and talked shop.)

You never know how it is going to go when you meet someone that you talk to online. I thought it went well and that we hit it off swimmingly! (Of course, I may have to retract that statement if they come back and post that I was an uninteresting idiot, but for now we will go with my version where we are all now BFF's for life!)

Race Morning

Both races start at 6 am and leave from Cavitt School (I am not sure why we all always include the name of where a race starts. Like anyone in another state gives two shits about Cavitt School in Roseville, CA. Hell, I live in California and I could give two shits about Cavitt School. I digress...)

We were chatting it up and meeting people. I met Cynthia, a local ultrarunner that decided, like three weeks ago, 'what the hell! I will do a 100 miler' and JohnnyTri,(he will be back in the next post when I tell stories about crewing. He is hilarious and a super sweet guy!) an Ironman and ultrarunner, who is training for the HURT 100, he was pacing a runner today for 33 miles.

Then there was S. Baboo, another hardcore Ironman who ran the Leadville 100 miler 3 weeks
ago, a marathon on Monday, and was now about to embark on another 100 miler and Iron Misty who is training for her first 100 miler and was rounding out a 60 or so, mile week.

I stood around the school gym with all of these WAY hardcore people thinking "What the holy fuck am I doing here? I do not fit in with these people" and started to feel more than a little self conscious.

Race

The race started promptly at 6 and we trotted out into the darkness. Misty had run a marathon on Monday (yes, you read that right. 5 days before this she ran a freaking marathon!) and was using this as a training run so she wanted to take it easy. 'Take it is easy' is the new code for "I will run with you, RBR" and that made me VERY happy because I was not ready for this thing and suffering alone for 31 miles did not sound fun.

The trail was beautiful and the weather, at 6 am anyway, was comfortable for running.

RBR and the Geekgirl feelin' fine at about mile 5 or 6

Misty was surprised at all the dead, brown grass along the trail. She felt that a bait and switch had been perpetrated by California.

Beautiful views of Lake Folsom

Misty was complimented on her UBER cute outfit all day long! She was cuter AND thinner, which I could have handled had she not also been funnier and smarter. I call, bullshit. It is not supposed to work like that.

I wore the same boring stuff I always do.

As we ran the first 15.5 miles, I could not believe how good I was feeling. Not tired, breathing well. Overall I was feeling amazing. Once we turned around, the reason for my 'feeling amazing-ness' became obvious. We had been running downhill for most of the 15.5 miles.

It was now getting hot and we found ourselves climbing. I SWEAR I barely remember ever running downhill those 15.5 miles, but I also do not remember a catastrophic tectonic plate shift that would cause a drastic change in the elevation profile that morning, so we must have.

Elevation Profile for the first 27 miles. I had originally wanted my race time for this run to beat my Garmin battery life, but sadly, even though the Garmin gave me 8 hours and 23 minutes I was not able to beat its battery life.

After 10:15 am it was getting hot (temp at noon was 90 degrees according to weather.com) and dusty.

but it was still pretty!

A beautiful oasis with a natural spring along the trail that we used to cool down on the way back.

Pretty pond we ran by

At mile 28-29, I was more than ready to be done. We came up to an intersection in the trail that had four different directions you could choose from and no orange ribbon to tell you which one was the way back in. Grrr...

This had happened several times during the day. Apparently, there were people sabotaging the race by pulling the trail marking ribbons down. Misty used her New Mexico Navajo tracking skills to see which way to go and we had not gotten lost all day, but now the trail was covered in mountain biking tracks and she could not see where the heavy foot traffic was headed.

Super.

I tell you, I was hot, I was tired, and my feet hurt, but if I had seen a mountain biker with a fucking orange ribbon in his hand I would have had plenty of energy left to hide a body.

Two trails went downhill and one went up hill. We tried one of the down hils and at the base of the hill. Hmmm... it looked "wrong", so we hiked back up the steep ass hill in the full sun. Then we tried the other downhill trail and followed it along for at least 1/2-3/4 of a mile before ending up at the base of the same goddamn hill we just climbed. We climbed the steep ass hill in the full sun AGAIN. Then we tried the uphill trail and after about 1/2 a mile we end up...

you guessed it!

..at the base of the same motherfucking hill we had now climbed TWICE! This time we did not climb it again, we instead took the trail that looked 'wrong' and after about 3/4 of a mile we found this

Finally, an orange ribbon. Angels sang and women wept (ok, we almost wept. We were too dehydrated from 30+ miles in the searing fucking heat)

We finished out the run and crossed the finish line together. Little did we know that in doing so we tied for 3rd place female in our age group.

They said they will send me one of these awards as well. I am certain that there must have only been four in our age group, but I will still take the bling anyway.

Post Race

Here is the RBR is dumb as a doorknob portion of the post. (No, smartass, the 'she didn't train for a 50k and ran it anyway' was not the dumb part. Shut it.)

The trail was mostly sand and fine, powdery dirt. Due to my super efficient running gait, I could feel that I was kicking sand and dirt into my shoes and forming hot spots on the balls of my feet.

I own gaiters. However, I did not wear them, even knowing that I ALWAYS kick shit into my shoes trail running. Then, for some reason that I still do not understand, I did not stop to take the sand I had kicked into my shoes out until 24 miles into the run, after it had become so bad that each stride felt like I was running sandpaper over raw skin, which was essentially what I was doing.

As a result of this supreme idiocy, this is what the balls of my feet look like

Try to ignore the carpet fuzz that is stuck to my oozing wounds. Ick.

Oh wait, it gets better.

After the race, I drained the blisters by cutting them open with safety scissors (the kind your kids use at school. I had a random pair in my purse and it was the only semi-sharp thing I had) and then I covered them with socks and headed out to crew for S. Baboo.

After crewing all night, I had to carefully peel my socks off and get ready to take a shower. This was painful and NOT fun, but not as nearly as bad as when I went into the bathroom to take a shower and my bare feet and oozing blisters stuck to the bathroom linoleum. I was certain I would be found by the maids the next day stuck to that same spot because every time I tried to move searing pain shot through my feet as if I was peeling off my skin, which, again, I was essentially doing.

Despite my stupidity, my second 50K was a blast. Misty was an amazing, fun, and patient running partner. If you are wondering if she is as funny, charming, and nice as she seems in her blog I am here to tell you she is and I have 30 straight hours of conscious contact to prove it.

There are not many people that you can just meet and then run 32 miles miles and crew all night together.

It is for that reason that I am currently having my new BFF's name tattooed on my ass as we speak.

Ok, I am kidding.

But I will make myself available to run with her anytime she feels like 'taking it easy'. Thanks for a great run, Misty! Javelina here you come!

Next post will be my experience crewing for S. Baboo's 100 miler that night. It was as intense a thing as I have ever been a part of in endurance sports. I still have not wrapped my head around it all. Amazing.

Ants! It's what's for breakfast!

2010-09-10T06:05:00.000-07:00

Every August as we and the students trudge reluctantly back to school, we are greeted with a more energetic crew awaiting our return... the ants.

Lots and lots of ants.

Unending trails of fucking ants.

We are not allowed to have any type of insecticide in our room. (because, presumably, they think that high school students are so irreparably stupid that upon finding an unguarded bottle of ant spray they will IMMEDIATELY drink it down with a smile)

Therefore I am forced to battle ants with this

Not a super effective ant killer. Mostly it just drowns them and/or makes them smell lemony fresh but, it will beat the troops back a bit.

So that brings us to the reason for today's post.

I get to work pretty early. Typically between 5 and 5:30 am most days. I am one of those ridiculously perky morning people. I do, however, require LARGE amounts of coffee to get through the day, so I usually, (read: ALWAYS) start off my work day by brewing coffee in the coffee maker in my classroom (Yes, that is patently against school regulations. As is my microwave. Bite me. Pay me more than the dude that cuts your lawn and maybe I will consider removing said items, Ms. Superintendent.)

This morning I am making my coffee and already have my panties in a twist because I am out of the good coffee (i.e. the Starbuck's Pike's Peak) and have to resort to the back up Folger's coffee (gasp!) but shit coffee is better than no coffee so I proceed.

After brewing I detect a strange, spicy flavor in my coffee. Hmmm.... odd.

Now this is not my first foray into shit coffee. Truth be told I am a bit of a coffee whore and will drink anything resembling coffee, which includes going all Aunt Edna style and reheating yesterday's coffee to drink or reusing coffee grounds. (Don't give me that face! I am not saying I prefer it, I am just willing to do it. Sheesh. Like you did not lower your standards and wake up with a few fugglies in your day, Mr. and Mrs. Judgey!)

ANYHOO, back to the story...

In my experience, shit coffee can be bitter or dirty tasting, but I have never had it be spicy. Then a particular organic chemistry lecture from college flashed in my mind. Formic acid is a compound in ants that gives them a "spicy" taste.

Argh.

I check the filter.

Yep, I just drank a nice hot cup of brewed ants.

A new low, even for this coffee whore.

I am headed out for Sacramento this afternoon to run (ok, run-ish) the Rio del Lago 50k tomorrow. This may hurt a little.

School days, School Days....

2010-09-02T09:19:00.001-07:00

The next line in the song (after the Golden Rule bit, which ... yeah, right) is

"Readin' and 'ritin' and 'rithmetic Taught to the tune of the hickory stick"

Teaching to the tune of a hickory stick! Now, there is a tradition that is sorely missed. At least by me. Last year I was known to lament that stocks were deemed "cruel and unusual" punishment and the fact that I was not issued a chair and bull whip when I received word of which "special" students were assigned to my class.

I must say though, that when the ol' Gods of Scheduling were divvying up the cherubs this year, I got pretty darn lucky. So much so that I almost have nothing to bitch about.

Don't worry it is week 2. They are sophomores. I am certain they will not disappoint.

I will instead bitch about my colleagues...'cause I am classy like that.

I present to you a letter in response to the deluge of annoying shit that has already occurred in this newly dawned school year.

Dear Esteemed Colleagues:

1. You have TWO options when replying to an email, "Reply" and "Reply all." Be aware of the audience you are sending an email too. We all do not need to know that your daughter has an orthodontist appointment and you will not be attending the faculty lunch. Nor do we need you to prove to us how "important" you are by listing every meeting you are attending this month to show the one person that gives a shit about your schedule that you are available Wednesday at 3 pm for a collaboration that 95% of us in your "Reply all" list are not involved in.

Now, I am NOT referring to the gal that hit "Reply all" and proceeded to flame the shit out of the original sender's spelling and grammar, because, really, that shit was entertaining as hell and made for a uber- fun staff wide lecture on professional compassion where the whole thing got started again and grammatical errors within the flame itself were criticized. It was AWESOME.

2. Please do not speak to me like I am 7. I am considerably older than 7. For example, if I am laughing louder than you would prefer in the main office, two hours before school even starts, I ask that you treat me as you would any other adult that is annoying you. Do you really say "library voices" to other adults in public? And if so, how often do you get your ass kicked? Because I know one Friday morning when you came close.

3. I know, I know, you work harder than me. You work harder than us all. No one has as tough a schedule, as grueling a extracurricular commitment, nor is as fatigued/ill/or cursed, as you. I just have one thing to say, "Shut the fuck up and get off the fucking cross! No one cares."

4. If your automated email signature is longer than 90% of the emails I send, you are possibly full of yourself. If your email signature signs off with "Namaste" you are certainly full of yourself.

Sincerely and with the utmost professional compassion,

Namaste! (See? I have been to a yoga class, too! )
Ms. RBR

In other news....

(Nope, not spilling the beans on the BIG secret yet. *evil, but UBER excited grin*)

I am running a 50k in less than 2 weeks with the GeekGirl herself. Afterward we are going to crew for her husband, S. Baboo, as he does ANOTHER 100 miler (he did Leadville 2 weeks ago!!) It is the Rio del Lago 50K. I am registered. My room is booked. I am going. I am soooooo excited, but soooooooo SCREWED!

More on that later....

For Whom the Bell Tolls..

2010-08-29T08:05:00.000-07:00

..., it tolls for me.

And I guess, for thee as well, if you are a teacher or student.

le sigh

School has started.

Ok, quoting John Donne's fever induced epiphanies about illness and death is a bit dramatic, even for me, but summer has somewhat abruptly come to an end. Considering the amount of time I spent in hospitals, radiation centers, and doctors' offices this season, ol' Donne's most famous and bastardized quote seems somewhat apropos.

Hubby Update:

On Friday, hubby graduated from his 28 sessions and 5 and half weeks of radiation.

Halle-fucking-lleujah!

The Radiation center makes a big deal of it. At the end of the session they play Pomp and Circumstance, and they even give the 'graduate' a mortarboard and a diploma.

How ADORABLE is this?! He wanted to go all 'mug shot' for the photo since he is an alleged badass and all, but the receptionist and I made him giggle then the snapped this picture!

I have not written much about his radiation, because this summer was a tough road, but frankly, the radiation part was much easier than we expected. A lot of that was due to the Northern California Prostate Cancer Center where he got his radiation. No one wants to ever need a radiation oncologist, but these folks, make EVERY attempt to make this horrid experience easier on the patient and family.

Because we chose an aggressive treatment path it is hard to tell which of the treatments caused each of the bevy of side effects Mr. RBR has been experiencing. We suspect that the Hormone Deprivation Therapy (done with the Lupron injections) is responsible for most of the worst ones, and for exacerbating the others. I don't think we can blame the Lupron for a rather nasty radiation burn he got in a rather sensitive area.

Ahem. As much as I love the doctors, and staff and NCPCC, I did find reason to remind the good doctor that at the beginning of this shin dig, he promised to NOT fry the goods! They are currently a bit fried. Grrrr..

Anyhoo, he has to get one more 3 month shot of the Lupron on Sept. 13th, which will zap all testosterone production until December 13th. This makes a total of 9 months sans man juice. He is over it. I am over it. So what do I do?

Book a Hawaiian vacation. We leave December 20th. We are staying at the Ritz-Carlton in a deluxe oceanview room for 5 days. A bit overly extravagant for a teacher that lives in a 900 sq ft house and drives a 5 year old Honda, you say?

You bet your sweet bippy it is. And I do not care.

And if anyone feels the need to remind me that the human body is not a computer and just because the drug has a 3 month efficacy that does NOT mean that his testosterone gets flipped back on like a switch at 3 months and one day...

You can just shut it.

It is my fantasy and I am clinging to it.

Current score: Mr. RBR 3, Prostate Cancer 0

Other BIG News in the life of RBR (well, at least tangentially in the life of RBR):

I can't tell you yet.

But, I am SUPER excited.

Like SUPER DUPER excited.

But, like I said, I can't tell you yet.

But, rest assured it is the first news of 2010 that has not completely sucked ass.

But, I can't tell you yet.

So don't ask.

But you can bet your ass, when I can, I will.

More about the first week of school later... I have to go run. The exercise front has taken a hit as of late.... le sigh

A Tale of Two 10k's: Race Reports - Dirty Legs Quicksilver and Cinderella Trail

2010-08-15T14:07:00.000-07:00

I am a little behind so here is a two-fer. Two race reports for the price of one, which is free, so quit yer bitchin' already.

Dirty Legs Quicksilver Trail 10k - August 8, 2010

I planned to run this with Katie A. and PunkRockRunner (Ron). It is the second in the Sou th Valley Endurance Summer Trail Series. The first one was the Dirty Legs Trail Run at Nis ene Marks that Katie A. and I ran last month. These are small, inexpensive, very well run, races. I am officially a fan.

When I drove up, the first thing I saw is Ms. Lilly! Ms. Lilly is Katie A.'s dog who is as adorable as a dog can be that is not already my dog Lucy (who, IMHO, is the most adorable dog in all the land).

Katie and Ms. Lilly after the race

Katie, Ron and I decided we would run our own races for this 10k (translation: they dropped me like a used condom about 20 yards into the race)

About 20 yards in to the race, do you see Ron and Katie? No? Neither do I.

The run started with brutal 1 mile/~600ft elevation gain climb, but after that the course was very runnable and since it was not hot, a really beautiful run. I met up with a gal, Jill, that was about my pace and we ran together, chatting it up and enjoying the scenery.

Elevation chart for the race

At about mile 5.5 we came a cross a runner that was down and clearly in pain. He was with one of the course photographers. We asked if they needed anything, but they said help was coming and they were fine.

About half a mile later we saw the "help" in the form of a very unhappy EMT hiking up the steep, single track carrying a 40 pound gear bag and a back board. She was gasping for air and could not even respond to us when we asked her if she needed help. She just immediately handed me the gear bag and Jill the back board, so we took that as a 'yes'. I gave her my water bottle and we started the trek back to the downed runner.

Jill carrying the back board. That sucker was heavy, like hiking with a goddamn surf board. The bag was no picnic either.

We got back to the runner, and after the EMT's evaluation, we got him strapped on the back board and started to haul him out. He was in a lot of pain. Shaking and shocky. After about half a mile he deemed it was way too painful to stay on the board. After more evaluation, the EMT said that his femur was most likely not broken (our best guess based on the pain level and the awkward look of his thigh is that he detached part of his quadricep muscle), so the photographer and the race director acted as crutches and helped him down the trail (Jill, the EMT, and I were WAY too short to do this).

At this point, Jill and I were not needed except to pack the gear bag to the aide station where the EMT's truck was waiting. After dropping off the bag we were able to run the 0.1 miles left to the finish. We actually had been on pace for about 1:25-1:30 prior to all of this, but ended up finishing about 2:30 and covering at total of 7.75 miles.

The other race director, Stacey, was at the finish and was very grateful and sweet. They even gave us medals and free entry to one of their races.

Jill and I, post race (thanks, Ron for the pictures)

Ron and Katie were sweet enough to wait for me even though they had finished long ago. They both won real medals for their age group awards.

The two age group winners and the pity award recipient

Cinderella Trail 10K - August 14, 2010

I had originally planned to do the half marathon at this race, but LA Run Buddy wanted to go with me so we decided to do the 10K. It was held at the Joaquin Miller Park in Oakland. I had run here before doing the Woodminster 9 miler and remember it as a tough course, but this was a different part of the park and was very runnable while being just as gorgeous.

Profile for the Cinderella Trail 10K

At mile 4, I felt a familiar pinch.

"FUCKING HELL!! Fucking yellowjacket!!"

Yes, I got stung AGAIN. This time right on my sizeable ass.

Sure, yellowjacket, you chicken shit, take the easy target.

About half a mile later I got stung again, this time by a bee, and frankly, meh. After a yellowjacket sting a bee sting is hardly worth mentioning, but it still ellicted another 'FUCKING HELL!' outburst on the trail.

Rosie, trail dog extraordinare. Too damn cute to not snap a photo of, but as you can tell she was not super thrilled about her photo op.

After that the run was pretty uneventful. I could tell my sting was starting to swell, and get hot. Since I have had quite a few yellowjacket stings at this point I react pretty strongly anymore, so I am back on the Benadryl which turns me into a semi-conscious drooling idiot for most of the day. And half of my ass looks like I was a very, very bad girl. (Leave it, G. Too easy, even for you)

The return loop was much more technical than the way out and LA Run Buddy who will never be mistaken for a nature girl, was a wee bit unhappy and made me promise we would go get pancakes after the run. Ouch, ouch, twist my arm. Ok, pancakes it is!

LA Run Buddy and I back at the car headed out for pancakes!