Running Woman

            "...he was probably just beginning his mid-life crisis, hence the jogging stuff. So, the message here is twofold: First, you never know when you're going to die, so you should be sure to have fun while you can. Second: this story reinforces my belief that jogging, whether on a treadmill, a neighborhood nature trail or even a beautiful beach, is truly a BAD thing." - from AIRPLANE, originally published in The Penny Chronicles March 17, 2010.

OK, so now do I have to eat my words?  I have, I am deeply ashamed to admit, taken up running.  I am now one of those crazy road weenies you see at all times of day and night in ill-fitting and unattractive clothing, bobbing crazily through crosswalks and between parked cars and around stopped school buses, and even worse, one of those who stop for traffic signals but keeps running in place.  I have joined their ranks. For some reason, I have a deep seated desire to run some sort of footrace.  So, I am currently training for a 5 kilometer race which will be held in three short weeks.  I have NEVER run before and I have a few theories why.  

• First and foremost, I have now proved what I have long suspected; that my body is not made for running - it is made for fishing and eating and playing at the beach and sleeping and other pleasurable pursuits.  
• Second, inclement weather is best enjoyed from either the cozy cabin of a warm, dry pilothouse or the plush sofa of a home with a well-stocked kitchen or at least a good and reliable source of take out food.  
• Third, I am an embarrassingly SLOW runner.  I am so slow that I have nightmares of the race officials closing up and leaving before I finish...  Of Boy graduating from High School while I am trying to finish this race...  Of missing dinner...

Despite the compelling reasons I have to NOT run,  I still put on my tennies and head out the door and slog around the neighborhood for a bit a few times a week.  I keep putting one foot in front of the other and smile through the complaints my body is making.  What's getting me off my big comfy couch?  I just keep imagining my triumphant dash across the finish line.  In my case, my 'dash' is likely to be a slow jog or even a walk or perhaps even a crawl but as long as I make it to the other side of that line, I don't really care.

 

Beautification

Over the years, I have experimented with probably hundreds of skin care products purchased (depending on my financial solvency) at drugstores, supermarkets, department store cosmetic counters, salons and spas. I have also gone the route of door-to-door products, mail order and the internet. I am a skincare junkie. An addict, if you will. I will try out pretty much any product on my face. I have also experimented with skincare of my own invention in my own kitchen (after all, I do have a science background), developed after painstaking detailed research spanning actual minutes.

My latest experiment was with canned pumpkin. Pumpkin is loaded with all kinds of good stuff your skin needs so I thought, "Why not?" So I opened up a can of pumpkin, smeared it on my face and throat and waited about 15 minutes. After rinsing it off, while my skin did feel noticeably smoother, my face and neck and the palms of my hands were a ghastly shade of...well, pumpkin orange. From the neck up, I looked like a spray tan gone bad. My peculiar coloring lasted about 3 days. Neither man nor boy noticed. (Note to self: next time, use the white pumpkins.)

Other things I have tried and suggest you avoid -

Plough (pronounced 'pluff') mud: I thought this would be a great detoxifier and be loaded with luscious nutrients from the sea. However, when I let it dry out on my skin, I was encased in this incredibly hard crust...sort of like a mummy. Took FOREVER to wash off. And then, learning from my mistake, I thought maybe regular mud puddle mud might work...you know, with the rain water and all that. Got a horrible rash...

I had high hopes for whipped cream and honey - When I started out, I actually was using MILK and honey, but by the time I blew up the hand mixer trying to blend these two things together, I had made whipped cream with some lumpy calcified honey blobs. Whipped cream, and therefore I assume milk, on my skin, makes me itch terribly! Egg whites were almost as difficult to remove as the plough mud. And, I also can't recommend oatmeal, watermelon, coffee grinds or balsamic vinegar as skincare treatments.

So, while I like and use "natural" and "unprocessed" and "organic" products to eat or clean my house with, when it comes to my face, I run like hell from any product that makes any of those claims!

Hell No; I Won't Go!

So the southeastern coast of the US, where I live, is maybe-possibly-could-be-in-the-path of a hurricane that is predicted to make landfall near me sometime in the next couple of days. I really don't worry about hurricanes anymore, not since the BIG one of 1998. Now, I have a lot of respect for Mother Nature, but once you've been through what I've been through, you kind of take it all in stride. In 1998, there was a massive storm approaching the coast. This sucker, Bonnie, was so huge and so terrifyingly strong that pretty much the entire southeastern seaboard was required to evacuate. Boy was just a toddler at the time, still in diapers in fact, which is why we decided to evacuate. We figured we owed it to him to make sure he lived long enough to at least be potty trained. So I packed a small cooler with snacks and water, loaded the kid into his carseat and headed north to Atlanta to stay with friends. Man was following us a little later in the day with the cats and a few other irreplaceable items. My goal was to get on Interstate 16, which would pretty much take me where I wanted to go. I was driving the Mommy Mobile (a little Volvo station wagon which was quite possibly THE un-hippest vehicle one could drive), but I had my little guy, good music and some food so I was all set for the 4 hour trip. The short drive to the Georgia border went quick. I was zipping along, belting out the 'Winnie-the-Pooh' song, crossed over the Talmadge Bridge and had the interstate in my sights when I came to a stop...

There was literally a sea of cars in front of me. I downshifted all the way to first gear and there I stayed for TWELVE HOURS, creeping along at maybe 5 miles an hour. We were going so slow, people were picnicking out of the beds of their pick-up trucks and the trunks of their cars WHILE THEY WERE STILL DRIVING! Families were walking behind their cars, pushing little ones in strollers, tossing frisbees, etc. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. It was like Interstate 16 was a Wal-Mart parking lot on a Friday night. It was the worlds biggest and slowest parade and it totally sucked. After 3 hours in traffic, I left the first of many messages on my friends answering machine. It was something along the lines of "Way more traffic than I expected...I'll be there a little bit later than I thought." Another hour later, I called her back and said "This is really getting on my nerves...I have been driving at like, 2 miles an hour for HOURS now...hopefully I'll be there soon." The next message was "I was going to turn around, but all the southbound lanes have been changed into northbound only. Things are looking up, though...we're cruising along at almost 20 miles an hour now! Be there in no time at all!" The next call was a bit more panicky..."OK, it's been 7 hours now, I am out of food, I have to pee, Boy is crying, people are getting UGLY out here. I'll call you when I get closer." Another hour or so later, I left this message: "My house AND my entire city better be LEVELED by this bitch, or I am going to be REALLY mad I have sat in this freakin' horrible car on this damn road for MORE THAN EIGHT HOURS FOR NO REASON." Hour nine's phone message was unintelligible, as I was by that time hyperventilating. An hour later, my message held the promise of death to the jerks who had erroneously forecast this monster storm hitting the Florida/Georgia/South Carolina coast. Later still, gut-wrenching sobs and shrieks of frustration that I still had not even reached the half way point to Atlanta were preserved on on the celluloid of my friends machine. My last message, at 11:00 at night explained that I was spending the night at some church a mere 85 miles from home...I was not being allowed to turn around and go home, even though the emergency had long passed. Man, who left our home some 6 hours AFTER me and Boy did, turned around and doubled back on the 'back' roads to meet us at the church that housed us all for the next two days, until the southbound lanes of the interstate had been re-opened and we could get home again.

So that's why hurricanes don't freak me out...I have been and am going to continue to be one of those weird people you see being interviewed on The Weather Channel who says "hell no, I'm not evacuating..."

Im ok u r ok 2

Every time a friend of mine has a thought to share, she texts me. And she usually sends long, involved texts - discourses on an outfit she is thinking about buying; what she thinks our kids should do next summer; a new recipe for hush puppies. Stuff that really requires a face to face conversation or at least, a telephone call. But, for some reason, she has decided that talking on the phone is not for her anymore and so I am forced to try and communicate with her on her terms. But, I'm afraid that our friendship is suffering because of it. Part of the problem is my technology impairment - stuff like this requires that I learn a new skill set - namely learning to push the very small buttons on my cell phone the required number of times to enter the correct letter, symbol or number. I do NOT have one of the phones that has a little keyboard built in and so I rarely capitalize or punctuate any texts I send. The keypad on my phone has numbers and a pound key and a few others, but it is certainly not a mini typewriter by any stretch of the imagination. When faced with answering her texts, I am also forced to try and use the fewest possible letters and respond as QUICK as I can, because if I don't answer her right away, she sends another text which causes my phone to delete whatever I am in the middle of typing. And, on top of poorly composed responses I always misspell stuff, too. So this is how a usual text session goes...

(her text) Do you want to go 2 Target w/me?

(my text) i thinl...

(her text) I want to leave @ 11. Is that good?

(my text) i think thavwould bfun and...

(her text) Would you rather go to Savannah to the mall? I want to see if I can get a new espresso machine at that groovy kitchen store that just opened.

(my text) i thinktgat target would be bditter becausei have to b...

(her text) Ooohhh...I know - let's go to the mall and then scoot over to "Ulta" and get some of that peppermint soap we love so much!

(my text) yer that will bfin...

(her text) Well, I guess you can't go today. Too bad. Maybe another day - text me back when you get this. XOXO

(my text) ZES!!!

You see what I mean?

TA DAAAAAAAAAAAAA...

So, this is my 100th blog entry! I re-read my very first post and realize not much has changed in the almost two years that I have been doing this. I am still looking for a job. I have still not figured out how to be super woman. I still have a scary knowledge of TV commercial jingles which I can sing on demand, tormenting friends and family alike. I still don't have any clothes. I still allot many of my daylight hours to fishing. I also still spend an abnormal amount of time on my boat. I think about getting a job, I think about buying clothes and I think about catching fish but haven't quite gotten there...

In short, I am still failing to succeed at many things I attempt. I have even MORE over-achiever friends than before. My major accomplishment in 2009 was cleaning out the linen closet. 2010 was highlighted by my retrieving a tube of lip gloss that had fallen between the drivers seat and the console in my truck. I am still trying to forge this years pinnacle, but so far I am off to a good start. Here it is July and I can already lay claim to figuring out what the little rocket ship button on my four year old laptop does. 2011 is going to my year...I can just tell!