So, Running, Eh?

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I am a runner now. Running is cool.

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Running is cool like fezzes and bow ties.

Before you even ask, I need to point out that I am not an arms runner or a drug runner, though I have to give props to anyone who might have had that thought in the back of their mind. I like the conclusions you jump to, sir and/or madam.

I’m not sure why I started running, or slowly jogging, or whatever I call the little shuffle I do, but it might have something to do with these reasons:

1)All my friends are doing it. Madame X and Tits Mcgee both have taken up running. I know what some of you are going to say. “Peer pressure is bad, Amy, mmmmmmkay? Besides, if they jumped off a bridge, would you jump too?” Yes. Yes I would. Geronimo!

2) If you sign up for a race, you get a goodie bag. Seriously, did you guys know that? You go to the thing, and then they give you presents.

I hear that sometimes the swag gets a little weird–4 roll package of toilet paper, anyone?– but I haven’t seen that kind of thing yet. My one and only swag bag had pretty normal stuff in it. Lip balm, shampoo sample, pen, hair gel. Nothing too weird. I was kind of disappointed that there was nothing that made me laugh maniacally and start texting everyone I know about it. Next time, maybe?

3) Running skirts exist, and they are super, super cute, but only if you are running in them. Wearing a running skirt without being in the middle of a run or having just finished a run just makes one look like a try-hard tart. See? I have to run.

4) La la la cardiovascular-health-or-something.

5) Beer afterwards. You know, to rehydrate.

6) Photos that are way more natural looking than the ones I usually get, in which the frozen smile looks suspiciously like it actually might be a pre-snarl.

7) I can listen to whatever crappy music I want to on my headphones without being told how uncool I am by Batman.

I can listen to The Proclaimers, for goodness sake. Is singing, “I would walk 500 miles and I would walk 500 more!” uncool? Probably. Awesome regardless of cool factor? Most certainly.

So yeah. There are my reasons. Music, beer, peer pressure and wanting to wear a running skirt without looking like a tart. Clearly, I am not a person of depth and substance.

I did a 5k last weekend, which was an untimed novelty run, and despite being cold and wet and annoyed by people in front of me who couldn’t possibly walk as slowly as they did, it was fun.

Im doing another of the same type this coming up weekend with Tits Mcgee. Should be superfun too.

Then in October, God willin’ and the crick don’t rise, I will be doing a half marathon. Thats a lot of miles. Thats like, from here to a place that’s 13.1 miles away from here.

And I will wear my skirt.

And I will listen to the Macarena, if I want.

And I will drink beer with my friends after.

And it will be great.

My Day, by the Numbers

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Great new songs discovered: 1

Mood at 8 am, on a scale of 1-10: 9

Major sewage problems discovered: 1

Shovels full of nastiness removed: unknown. Too depressing to count.

Times vomited today from the putrid smell: 3

Times vomited due to any other reason in the last 6 months: 0

Blisters on feet due to getting shoes wet: 1 (but its really big)

Snails stepped on: 1

Number of shoes worn during the snail stepping: 0

Times I got raw sewage on me: 2

Number of times I found a brown clump in my hair and freaked out: 5

Number of times it was henna instead of sewage: 4.

Mood at 2 pm, on a scale of 1-10: -6000

Amount of hand sanitizer used, measured in 32 oz bottles: 1/5

Number of fire ant hills hit by a weedwhacker: 1

Number of ants angered by this: Approximately 9 trillion.

Jump/flail/hop ‘get these ants off me” dance, in seconds: 20

Neighbors watching and laughing: 1.

Fire ant bites: 1

Number of times arson was considered: 40. But the day isnt over.

And how has your day been?

On Boston and not losing faith.

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There were horrible, horrible things that happened in Boston this week. You knew that already. You saw the reports and the photos so awful that they are burned into your brain. You know.

Also this week was the anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing, 18 years ago.  I bet if you are old enough to remember, you do remember.

I dont want to talk about those things. We know what, we know who, and we know how at this point. We dont know why, but as far as I am concerned, there is no explanation possible that will make us collectively sit back, breathe a sigh of relief, and say, “wellllllll, okay then, BomberGuy or other BomberGuy, I was concerned that you didn’t have a good enough reason, but now that you’ve explained, it’s all good.”

In the face of that kind of wrong, its easy to look at the actions of these men and figure the world is going to hell in a shrapnel filled handbasket.

I dont beg for anything, but I beg of you now: don’t think that. Not ever.

Don’t resign yourself to seeing only the bad. Don’t feel that humanity as a whole is terrible.  It’s just not true.

In the wake of the events in Boston, and OKC, and every other horrible situation, the actions and kindnesses of millions say far more about us as people than the violence of a few. We, as people, are riddled with empathy. We commit senseless acts of compassion all the time. We help, because that’s just who we are and that’s just what we do.

Believe it.

Now, darlings, get out there and act. The world needs your kindness, just as it always has.

I like jigglypuff, I just dont want to BE jigglypuff.

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You know how, in Game of Thrones, everyone’s all “brace yourselves, winter is coming”, and then they gaze with steely eyes off screen, probably looking at a direwolf or a beheading or something? If you watch GoT, you know. If you don’t,  please just smile and nod politely because thats exactly what happens.

For a chunkybutt, “winter is coming” is nothing to be steely eyed about. Its full of cozy nights, and oversized sweaters, covered in a crocheted blanket and a yawning cat, reading some classic tome of forbidden love and the tragedy that invariably follows. “Winter is coming” is the most looked-forward-to phrase of the year.

And it is coming. But you know whats coming first? Summer. Stupid dingus summer, filled with form fitting clothes and bathing suits and outdoor activities that are performed while wearing the aforementioned clothing. Meh.

Ive really needed to stop being such a jigglypuff for awhile, but so much of the exercising realm seems plain unfun and chore-y, and I always seem to find something better to do, like drinking beer on my patio…for example.

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Running makes me sad. See?

Its not that my body isn’t able. I absolutely have no physical reason to get myself out the door. Its all a product of my scumbag brain being scumbaggy, so ive attempted to change it into a nice, helpful brain.

One of my goals is to be able to run a few miles, or more than a few miles, so I looked online to find ways to squash the mental mutiny. The couch to five k program seemed to be successful for a lot of people, so I gave it a go.

I hated it like Sir MixALot hates flat butts.

It was all so tedious and the timing thing didnt work for me at all. I understand the idea behind it, but by the time I figured out how to actually move in rhythm and not just flail horizontally down the street, it was time to stop running and start walking. Gah. Frustration.

In a last ditch effort to not hate running, I decided to talk to my friend La Nuge about it. Shes an experienced runner and a hell of a nice lady. For the record, she is not The Nuge. You can tell them apart by her lack of hit songs from the 70s, and the fact that she doesnt view loincloths as appropriate goin-out clothes.

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This is totally not La Nuge.

She was as awesome as I have come to expect from her, and she basically told me to scrap that whole running for time and distance thing. After the necessary advice to get good shoes and make sure I listened to my body she dropped this knowledge bomb on me:

Run for experience. Run and watch the sun rise. Run in the rain. Run on trails. Run and spy on get to know your neighbors. Run and check out whats going on in everyone’s garden. Run for the sake of running, not for the sake of some numbers that I couldn’t care less about.

Maybe this was incredibly obvious to everyone but me, and that’s why I had never heard it before. Maybe this is like finding advice on how to breathe. But honestly, I had never, ever thought about running as something that could be enjoyed and not simply endured.

Guess what? This applies to literally every other exercise-y thing too. I can do it, and I can actually like it. It can *gasp* be fun.

Thanks, La Nuge. This jigglypuff could have done it without you, but she wouldn’t have.

Summer is coming, and I am ready.

And thats when my dogs learned a valuable life lesson

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Johnny Rotten made me a snack today, because I was working really hard in the yard, and he was taking more naps than hobbits have breakfasts. It was actually more of a peace offering than anything, I guess, but stil, snacks are snacks.

It had a bunch of deliciousness on it. Crackers, a few kinds of sausage, a few kinds of cheese, and pickles. It was really good, and it squashed any dissent I had over his version of nap-elevenses.

The ladymutts were begging so hard while I was eating. There was straight eyeballing, which didnt work for them, because hey, I dont care, they napped as hard as Johnny Rotten did.

Then there was the moving closer. Had there been a fire, perhaps even a disco inferno which can totally break out any time, because burn baby burn, I would have been trapped by the dogs and their starey eyes. Still I didnt give in.

Then. Then! Then there was soft whining in addition to the physical crushing and puppy eyes, just in case I didnt notice that hey, maybe they wanted to share my snacks.

Im not a complete hard ass, y’all. I finally gave in. I reached onto my snack plate. My hand hovered over the delicious cheese and the tantalizing sausage. Which should I give these poor dogs? They are so good and so nice.

Only, they arent. They snored and farted while I worked hard.

So, I gave them a pickle each. And, while they glared at me, I chortled and yelled, “Beggars cant be choosers!”

So now, my dogs hate me  even though they learned a valuable lesson. And now, my neighbors hate me too, because I do weird crap like yelling idioms and cliches even though they are true at my dogs at the top of my lungs.

So ungrateful. All of them. Pickles for everyone next time.