One of the many reasons why my husband rules...

He leaves me love notes...

 

 

 

Dude, I met the man.

This tale of obsession, rebellion, and headbanging starts when I was a pimply fourteen year old with a horrible fashion sense and even worse taste in music.  I was an awkward chick, to say the least, with not a lot of friends and a seemingly incurable hunger for better music than what I had been listening to (Motley Crue, Poison, Tim Noah).  A friend of mine introduced me to TOOL.  It was just the hard pounding super bass blasting melodic (is that a word) super music that I was looking for.  I didn't care that the only way I could understand most of the messages was to listen, pause, grab dictionary, listen, pause, look up word, pause, listen, look up word again, then headbang.  Yeah, TOOL's vocabulary is...what's the word...a bazillion times more advanced than mine.  On the SATs, TOOL would have scored a perfect 800 on the English section.  I think I scored almost a 600.  Which isn't bad, but still can't hold a candle to TOOL's vernacular.
I digress...
TOOL's front man, Maynard James Keenan, can only be descibed as super-human-pseudo-operatic-uber-genius-he-man.  He is the brains behind TOOL, A Perfect Circle, and Puscifer.  Okay, perhaps I'm jumping the gun here...but I'm sure you're starving for a point to all this madness.
Needless to say, as a Fourteen year old mega nerdolla, I became quite infatuated with Maynard.  Not on a weird obsessed level - I never had a poster of him over my bed or day-dreamed about the day when I had his babies.  But I often did day-dream about the day that I would meet him.  That dream came true on Wednesday November 11th, 2009. 
My husband and I have been following Maynard's work for years and should be no surprise to anyone that we fell in love with Maynard's new persona, Puscifer.  It's WAY different than TOOL.  It's more about the show and new technologies than mind-blowing music.  Which, isn't a bad thing, just different. 
When we heard Puscifer was coming to Seattle, we jumped on the opportunity to go to the show.  Did I mention they were also selling "meet and greet" tickets?  When we found out, we both crapped our pants simultaneously.  It was messy but wonderful, all at the same time.  Thank god for mops and washing machines.

Okay Brooke, get to the point already.  We met Maynard.  It was weird.  Totally weird.  They escort each patron holding a golden ticket to a dark room where Maynard is standing.  Some security guard flashed a light in my face and told me to step forward.  For some reason I felt like I was being interrogated.  I stepped up to Maynard and he handed me a signed CD.  I said, and I quote, "Hi!  I think I'm having a heart attack, but its still nice to meet you. Thank you."  The security guard laughed, Maynard said "ohhh" and laughed, and I was shown the door.  It was at that point that I slapped my forehead in disgust with myself and walked out of the room.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  So now my favorite musician thinks I'm a nut job.  Which actually couldn't be more accurate - I suppose.
On to the concert.  It rocked.  Opening band, Sweethead, pulled my husband up on stage to help disrobe the lead singer.  No joke.  Did I mention we had front row tickets?  Yeah, we did.  We're VIPs baby.  Anywho...he helped disrobe the lead singer out of her coat (it was stuck in her hair - can you say wardrobe malfunction?).  I was completely okay with the situation - all I could think about was how could DyLon woo the lead singer, then sneak me back stage to let Maynard know that 1) I wasn't having a heart attack and 2) I didn't want to have his babes or anything, but I think he's super uber genius he-man.  Anyway, it never happened.  But the Puscifer show was killer.  Electronica mixed with gospel and rock.  So weird but intriguing and cool.  I could go into details, but I think I've bored you enough.  Just leave here knowing that Brooke is one happy cat.  Even though I pulled an Urkel and geeked myself to Maynard, I still got to meet him and be myself to him.  What more could I want?

RIP My Fellow Monkey

One week ago a good friend of mine, Cristal, lost her battle with cancer.  I met Cristal through a company we both worked at.  "Hell on wheels" we used to call it.  We used to get through the awful days at work by blaming our make believe mischievous monkeys for our eff ups.  Her monkey was WAAAAYYY worse than mine.  She left there long before I did, but we remained good friends.  Cristal was your typical hippie at heart.  She danced always, cared for all mankind, enjoyed music, and loved to make people laugh.  A woman after my own heart.  DyLon and I will miss her greatly.  Go in peace my friend Cristal.
Here we are at Fremont's Solstice Parade discussing the naked former President Bush that we just saw...

Wedded Bliss

Holy crud it's been awhile since I've posted on here. Well, I suppose I have a good excuse; wedded bliss. As most of you know, DyLon and I were married on August 2nd. Man oh man what an awesome day it was. Now, I know that I'm contractually obligated to say that my wedding day was the best ever, but seriously, it was. And I have proof. A grin on my face that can't be erased! You can blame DyLon for that. He's brains, beauty, heart, soul, and charm all in one. I'd like to take a moment to say NEENER NEENER NEEEEEEENER! I got him. I won!

Okay, enough of the mush. On to the goods. Why was my wedding so awesome? Because it was unique. Vegetable bouquets, boutinneers, and corsages. Artichoke centerpieces. Butcher paper on each table to draw on. Guests were seated to instrumental TOOL songs. I didn't wear white (seriously, that should surprise none of you). The Father/Daughter dance was a dance dance revolution. A photobooth complete with crazy hats and glasses. And so on and so forth.

Here are some pics:

Radish corsage for Mom and Mom-in-Law

My bouquet of broccoflower.

Way too tempting for two vegetarians!

Our artichoke centerpiece.

Who says real men don't cry?

Oh crap, here comes the waterworks.

I'll get this darn thing on somehow...anyone have any butter?

We're married!!  High five!

Oh yeah baby, we're classy!  Notice Reagan in the background...

Father/Daughter dance.  We danced to a mix of Unforgettable, The Twist, Kung Fu Fighting, and Stayin' Alive.  My Dad dances waaaaayyyy better than I do.

Yeah, this was taken for our parents.  They wanted a "wedding pose."

And this one was taken for OUR enjoyment.  :)

What a good lookin' couple!

My goodness.  You'd think we were happy or something...

And now you know why my life rules...

*Photography by Jenny GG Photography.  Do not use photographs without permission or else you'll be in big trouble!

BB

BB can mean a lot of things. "Breaking Bad", which is one of my favorite TV shows. Bumble bee. Beautiful Brooke. Beavis & Butthead. The options are endless. In this blog's case, BB means Breaking Butt. Somehow, someway, Z coerced his way into being the owner of a co2 charged BB gun. I'm pretty sure it's illegal for a 13 year old to own a BB gun. But in Montana, where Z is from, 4 year olds are packing BB heat.
Let's make this long and confusing story short. My soon-to-be husband got shot right in the bum. It reminds me of the scene in "Forrest Gump" where Forrest claims something "jumped up and bit me!" That "something" was later determined to be a bullet.
This whole incident though is seemingly less heroic - I don't think DyLon got shot while saving any one's life. But perhaps I'm wrong...
But I digress. My DyLonster now has a wound right on his keister. And believe you me, I ain't kissing that booboo to make it feel better.
Oh, lookey there, there's another BB word. Booboo.

I'm going to chalk this episode up as misjudgement. We all make mistakes. It happens. I make mistakes all the time. I just typically don't hurt people in the process.

And if I see that damn gun pointed in my direction, I will be covering my buns and heading for the hills.

Peace and gun control.

Endless

I think the best word to describe having a stepson is "endless." There are endless amounts of laundry to do, sh*t to clean, lessons to teach, swear words to muffle, and fun. I know, "fun" threw you off, didn't it? Throws me off too. For the most part Z is well behaved. He's finally growing out of his destructo phase. I was telling my friends before he came that if he was a transformer, his name would be "Destructor." Thank god that's not the case. He's not as destructive as once believed.
We've had a good week so far - with a few minor blips. Did you know that when DyLon and I aren't looking its okay to take fireworks and set them off? Even though it's 2 weeks after the fourth of July? Yeah, I didn't know that either until Z told me. I'm calling bullsh*t on that one. Did you know that chores are for me and DyLon to do only? Yeah, I didn't know that one either. I'm calling bullsh*t on that one too. Oh, and did you know that small lies are okay as long as they don't manifest into big lies? Yeah...bullsh*t again.

Really though, other than uncleanliness, the occasional lie, and an odd obsession with fire, this week has been fun. Z and I set up my super old 16- bit Nintendo. We played Super Mario Bros 3 until we started calling each other "Mario" and "Luigi." It was at that point I decided we needed to stop being nerds and go outside for an hour. Then we went back in and started playing Nintendo again. And I have no problem telling you that I kicked a 13 year olds ass. He didn't have a chance in hell of beating me. I used to be the Nintendo princess. My brother, was of course, the Nintendo King. I could never obtain his level of Nintendo royalty.

Z and DyLon are camping this weekend. Guess what they left me? A whole pile of dishes in the sink. Isn't that nice of them? I should repay them somehow...but I'm not sure how. Perhaps I should just leave the dishes until they start growing penicillin. Meh, who am I kidding, I'll do them. And I'll probably like it too. Nobody does dishes quite like I do. I'll admit it, I'm one of those OCD types that insists on rinsing before putting them in the dishwasher. I'm usualy a big environmental Nazi - I insist everything be recycled and water saved. Except when it comes to the pre-rinse. F*ck the environment. I want clean dishes.

So they are camping and I'm stuck at home doing wedding crap. I call bullsh*t. But thank god Miriam came up and took me out to lunch. She saved me from wedding planning hell for 2 hours. Now I'm back at it...well, not right this second, but will be as soon as I hit "post."

Here are some quotes from the week to leave you with an idea of how this week went for me:

"How do I fold clothes?"

"I DID use shampoo, you just can't tell."

"I gotta take a dump."

"Do I need to put on clean underwear?"

"Papa's farts smell like something died."


Okay, back to wedding planning.

Peace.

New Topic - New Look and Feel

I'm breaking up with my running blog. I think it's time. It feels like we've grown apart. I don't know who it is anymore. Thanks Running Blog, you helped me get through some hard times...now pack your shit and get out of my house. Don't forget your toothbrush.


With that being said - I've picked a new topic/theme for my blog. I'm a misstepmom!!! Aka, Stepmom with lack of experience.

Some of you know, some of you don't, DyLon (my soon-to-be husband) has a thirteen year old son. I don't want his name plastered all over the net, so we'll call him "Z". Z is thirteen and I'm twenty nine (I can say that for only 2 more weeks). That makes me only 16 years older than Z. 16! Holy crap. When I was 16 I was doing bad things and hanging with bad people. I can't imagine having a kid then. Cool thing is, now I get a son without having been through labor, stretch marks, leaky boobs, and unbelievable amounts of poop. Bad news is, I have to figure out how to be a good role model. Shit. That means I have to behave myself. For those that know me, know how ridiculously hard that is for me. I can't have verbal diarrhea - which is what I do best.
Sidebar note: if there was an award in high school, like a "most likely to succeed" but instead "most likely to get slapped for her big mouth" I would have won. I would have given a glorious speech. "Thank you douche bags for giving me endless amounts of material. Without your constant influence, I would have nothing to talk about. By the way, did you know that all you popular chicks will get fat and get herpes? Good luck with Valtrex. It's all about suppression."

But I digress. Back onto my trials and tribulations of being a young stepmom. On July 11th, Z will come stay with us (he lives 90% of the time in Montana with his mom) through August 2nd. To help my nerves and to help me express myself, I will openly blog about my experience being a young stepmom.

This must be said and it is without hesitation that I write it: I love Z. He is a great kid with an imagination much like mine (oh god, someone give him an intervention now). I am honored to be DyLon's wife, and even more honored to be Z's stepmom. It isn't everyday someone trusts you to be a positive influence on a youngsters life...

Okay, so I have two weeks to prepare until said Z stays with us. I've actually got great hand eye coordination (I catch my Mom from falling in downtown Seattle all the time) so I should be able to stop milk spills. I've got great comeback skills so I should be able to sass him right back. I know how to cook so I'll be able to feed him properly. The thing that I lack is patience. DyLon is going to have to give me a crash lesson in patience. Let's hope I have the patience to pay attention. Har har har.

So stay tuned America, Brooke's about to become a young stepmom. Prepare yourself for crazy quotes like last year's "my testicle popped out" not to outshine "oh poopsquah!"

Here we go...

Bummer

Well, as it turns out, I've been instructed to "cool it" on the training. I've recently discovered some health issues and am no longer able to compete in the half marathon. I can't believe I have come this far and am stopped at the gate.
To be honest, before I found out I had health issues, I emailed Reid and Heather telling them that I wouldn't be able to run. Not because of health issues but because the timing was off. As most of you know, I moved in May and am getting married in August. My days and nights are filled to the brim with wedding plans. Thank god I don't have to plan a wedding ever again. It's awful.

Anywho, I quit, then I was told to quit. It's pretty ironic. All I was looking for was an excuse to quit. Now that I have it, I don't want it. I want to run and I want to finish.

I suppose I should be proud of myself for going this far. I ran over 10 miles! That's got to account for something, right?

I do have future plans to run a 7.5 mile run with Heather next year. She said people dress up in costumes. She shouldn't have told me that. I have a pregnant nun costume. I'm going to buy her a priest costume and we'll run like the irreverent sinners that we are...okay, maybe that's just me...

So until my next run, I'm going to have to figure out something to blog about...

Any suggestions? Anything other than wedding BS.

*UPDATE* to Boobs

I have received a number of suggestions on how to run with boobs. Thank you to all contributors. My favorite was from my father who said "just run with a wheelbarrow." I love my Dad.

Boobs

No one teaches you how to run with boobs. Its not in any textbook that I've ever seen. And I haven't heard Dr. Oz mention it on Oprah yet. So how in the world are women like me supposed to know how to run with large boobs? Is there a way that I can temporarily disable them? I mean, I'm not really using them anyway at the moment...can I shelve them for 30 minutes while I run?
Okay, all jokes aside, big boobed Brooke needs a better answer than wearing two sports bras.

Perhaps I can run with my boobs in my hands, creating less pressure on my shoulders and making them less bouncy? Hmm...that might attract people that want to hold their parts in front of me. Scratch that.

Perhaps I can hire a runner to run in front of me, but run backwards - they can hold my boobs for me while I run. Crap, that won't work either. DyLon doesn't run and the thought of someone else touching me grosses me out.

Okay, I'm fresh out of ideas. Which is weird for me. Until the perfect sports bra is invented, I'll be forced to have the layered look.

Peace.

Runfuckning

I know, it's been awhile since I've blogged about running. I think I've been following the old adage of "if you don't have anything nice to say...don't say anything at all." Well, enough of you complained about my lack of blog, so here you go.

For about a month I hated running. Yes, I know, hate is a strong word. There's really no other word to describe what I was feeling towards running. If I could get away with it, I'd invent a new swear word just for running. Something like runfuckning. Or runloathning.

Why did I hate running so much? Because running had become a second job. Everyday at 5:00 I dreaded the thought that in 1 hour I would be running. Shouldn't I have rejoiced in the fact that I was off work and ready to enjoy my "me" time? Well stupid "me" had applied for an after hours job - one I didn't even get paid for! Running...grumble grumble.

But then there was light...

Someone has made a deposit in the motivation bank 'o' Brooke. Not sure who. DyLon? Reid? Miriam? Heather? Regardless of who, I feel my motivation picking up again. Why? It's as simple as music. Don't leave home without it.

My sister-in-law Heather bought me a running fanny pack as a bridesmaid gift. Okay, I don't think it is really called a fanny pack, but that's what it looks like. DyLon had been grumbling that I didn't carry any sort of identification with me when I ran - what would happen if a bus hit me? How would people know who I was? Dental records, I presume.
Anyway, he must have grumbled enough to Heather who bought me the butt bag. Yeah, butt bag, that sounds better. So now I have a place for identification, my Zune MP3 player, and my key. *Cue angles singing on high now* BEST INVENTION FOR RUNNING! I've been cranking TOOL (anyone that knows me right now is saying 'duh') and System of a Down. Their fast paced music is like mental crank for your motivation.

So now I kind of like running again. I think I could probably endure much worse types of torture, other than running, as long as I was listening to TOOL or some other fast paced metal music. Okay...stop right there you ninnies that think listening to TOOL is a form of torture. Your patronage belongs on the blogs of Martha Stewart, Bob the Builder, or Bea Arthur (too soon to joke?), not here.

So, I've picked up my pace again. I'm feeling more positive about this whole running thing. But I still haven't figured out the dang snot thing...

Peace.

Sticking To It

No more complaining from me. I've had enough of being a Debbie Downer about running. I will now accept running as America's Favorite Pastime (although, I'm pretty sure that's uploading porn off the net).
I've been keeping up with my running. I still run 4 times a week for at least 3 miles at a time. Last Friday's run of 7 miles was a joke. I made the huge mistake of running on a treadmill. How boring. All I could think about was how much the dude next to me smelled like Jean Nate and wondered why someone decided to put the TV on "The Golden Girls." Yeah, nothing says "workout" like saggy old bittys talking about their geriatric sex lives and shuffleboard. I gave up after 6 miles. I had had enough powder fresh smell (the Jean Nate) and thoughts of the Golden Girls wearing depends. Can you imagine the conversation required to remove the depends before the sexin' begins? "Excuse me Saul, I need to un-tape my no-leak tab. Oh look! The indicator says I'm only half full. I'll save it for later. Now where were we?"

Gross. Seriously though, why do these thoughts enter my head?

To make up for my short mileage, I ran an extra 2.78 miles on Sunday. I know training doesn't work that way - you can't run 2 miles one day, then 3 the next and say "I just ran 5 miles", but for some reason it all justified itself in my head.

This weekend I've got only a 5 mile run. Should be cake. SHOULD be. I'll let you know what obstacles I come across... Be prepared for anything. You know how my head works...

Peace.

"Turn around, RUN!!!"

Alright, so far I'm sticking with this whole running thing. I realize I'm still in desperate need of an attitude adjustment, but I'm not going to quit, damn it. I can't. I won't. I rule. :)

Back to the trials and tribulations of Brooke. Last Friday, the 6th, I was just starting my 6 mile run. I decided to take a new route and run to Husky Stadium and back to my house on the Burke Gilman trail. It was a BEAUTIFUL day and I was ready to explore some new terrain. Little did I know, the universe had something different planned for me. As I was trudging along, counting my footsteps as I ran (something I do to keep my whackadoddle mind busy), I saw a police car zoom past me - siren blaring, lights flashing. I didn't think much of it; by this time I was in the U District and the police run rampant there. About 5 minutes passed and a policewoman jumped out of the bushes at me and screamed "Turn around!! RUN!!!!!" Holy crap, I'm fairly certain I soiled myself. She literally scared the beejesus out of me (I saw the beejesus float away like a lost balloon at a child's birthday party). I turned around and started running in the other direction. I looked up and noticed 4 helicopters (I was too busy counting steps earlier to even notice the helicopters) and then 3 more police cruisers whizzed past me. "What in the hell?" I thought. I was scared, but damn it, I had 5 more miles to run. So I ran in the other direction - my same old standard route. When I was done I realized that I ran 6 miles in 62 minutes. That's not going to seem very fast to you speed demons out there, but for me, it's pretty amazing. I think the adrenaline from the policewoman startling me aided my run and gave me that extra nudge to "haul ass," as my roommate would say.

Turns out the coppers were chasing bank robbers and I was lucky enough to step right in the middle of the chaos. I was so oblivious as I was running that I'm fairly certain one of the robbers ran right past me - I thought to myself "why is he wearing jeans?" I'm so brain dead sometimes...

So what did I get out of this whole experience, you ask? I now run around looking for crimes in progress, run in the middle of the rigmarole, get freaked out by cops, and have the best run of my life. Speed Demon Brooke, here I come!

Tonight's run is only 5 miles. I wonder where I should run...Tacoma? White Center? Hilltop?
Where did I put my Kevlar vest??

Peace.

Divine Intervention

I'm going to need some divine intervention, perhaps in the form of a swift kick to the arse, to set me on the path of runners enlightenment. Why? I hate running. HATE IT. My brain has been fighting me the past couple of weeks. "Why oh why are you torturing yourself?" These 5 miles runs are mind numbingly boring. I find myself dreading the end of my work day because I know as soon as I get home, I have to run. Is that normal? I'm not sure.

I'm still keeping with it; only because I've already paid the $80 registration fee. There's only one thing I hate more than running - wasting money.

Someone smack some enlightenment into me. I'll even inject it into my arm if that means it gets into my blood stream faster...

Life's Lessons: A Runners Reflection of Sorts

So yeah, I totally rule. I ran around Greenlake twice on Friday WITHOUT stopping. That's 5.6 miles, ya know. I only needed to run 4.5 miles, but I was feeling ambitious. So I just went for it.


Afterwards I pretty much died. My hips started to cramp, I felt a poop coming on, and I thought I might faint. Note to self: probably a good idea to eat a Powerbar before running long distances.


So, while I was running, I was trying to keep my mind occupied. I was having all these flashbacks to my childhood - which is weird because usually I try to forget about my pathetic existence as an adolescent. Too much awkwardness...too many shoulder pads...too much Kirk Cameron.


Things I have learned from childhood:

• Brush your teeth for at least 2 minutes
• Don't slam the car door
• Wear your raincoat, even if it's not raining
• Wipe front to back (never veer from this...trust me)
• Do not dump a boot full of sand in your eye
• Dad's suppositories are not mini bombs meant to be jumped on
• You break it, you buy it with your allowance
• No matter how many strangers you grab and call "Mom", they will won't take you home
• Dad's forget their daughters at gymnastics - it's totally normal
• Sugar is the root of all evil, but don't mention that to Mom when she's eating M&Ms
• Faking running away is not really a good way to get attention - you'll just get mad when you hear rejoicing
• Wooden spoons are good butt whackers
• It's totally not okay to put a piece of raw chicken under Dad's pillow
• Parents have favorites - if they haven't told you it's you, it's your brother. Good job Reid.
• Technically money does grow on trees because it's paper, but not on any tree that my parents own
• Even if it makes you barf, you must eat all of your fish soup that Mom made - making barf faces at your brother in the process is optional
• Do NOT order a pizza to a neighbor's house from a place that has a long distance telephone number
• While Dad's hair might look pretty in barrettes, do not tell his friends he let you decorate him
• You must scream "OW!" before your brother hits you
• Peas are Power Pellets and you totally rule if you can eat them faster than your gargantuan brother
• Michael Jackson will always be scary, no matter what year it is
• The love your parents have for you will last a lifetime and if necessary is able to move mountains to keep you safe
• Mom's jeans will always be too short and Dad will always match his sweatshirt to his sweatpants
  

So what does all of this have to do with running? Nothing much. Only that it is the type of nonsense that enters my head while attempting to run my cheesy arse off. Just imagine all the things I didn't share here because they are too weird...it's a crazy and scary world I live in.

On another note, I think I am being targeted by terrorists. Terrorists in the shape of birds. I was running yesterday around Fremont and I got pooped on. Right on top of my head. You have to be a pretty skilled bird to blast one on a moving target. I think this bird went to terrorist school. The School of Hard Drops. Maybe this is all the motivation I need to run faster.

Peace.

Courage

I'm not sure how to start this post. I don't want to sound egotistical or come off as a person that toots their own horn (no, not that horn, the other one). But I do want to share my story with you. It's the story of courage.

Somehow, by the grace of something bigger than me (an elephant maybe?) I have summoned the spirit to go on. The spirit of courage. The spirit of the half marathon. I know, I know, you're thinking "how is this possible? She is injured, she can't possibly still compete in the half marathon!" I beg to differ. And when I say "beg" I mean that in a non-verbal, non on my knees way. I've got to preserve my knees you know...don't want another injury.

Literally and metaphorically I have cleansed my soul/sole. I washed that bloody sock and now use it as a flag. A slightly rust colored flag. I wave this flag with pride at my accomplishments and future endeavors. Not literally of course, it would look a little weird to see a chick waving a dirty athletic sock; but figuratively. Emotionally. Spiritually.

I have found the courage to go on. The courage lives in me like a tapeworm lives in someone's lower intestines. It's eating away at me and makes me feel hungry...hungry for more running.
Oh, and I also found some Band-Aids. Helpful little buggers those are.

Okay, enough is enough. I'm still running. Haven't missed a day. I enjoy it ever so slightly. Nothing will stop me from running this race. Well, unless I get a horrible case of Amoebic Dysentery the night before the big run. That causes bloody diarrhea, ya know.

Moving right along. I ran 4 miles on Saturday. DyLon met me at my destination (The Bagelry) with a water bottle, a sweatshirt, my purse (it looked good on him), and a kiss. Don't need much more than that. Except for maybe a Havarti bagel sandwich, which I scarfed down.

All is well in the training world. I'm finding my groove and getting more and more confident that I can do it.

I can do it, ya know. I've got courage...and about 4 more dress sizes to lose.

I'm done for...

I'm injured. I'm done for. My life is over. I can no longer compete in the 2009 Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon. I was running the other day and all was seemingly well. In fact, it was better than well, it was ALMOST easy. Fault number one: thinking running was easy.

It wasn't until I got home that I realized how incredibly injured I was. I needed comfort. I wanted my Mommy to tell me it was going to be okay. I wanted my Fiance to hold me. I wanted sympathy. I was thrust into a deep dark depression because of my injury...and I knew that this would change me forever. I was now going to be the girl that couldn't compete because she had life threatening injuries. That girl. You know the one. The featured one on the 11:00pm news. Headline: "Girl gains injury, loses chances to compete." There will be a foundation set up in my name, I'm sure of it. Or at least I'll get a street named after me.

My injury, too gross for the weak of stomach and heart. My injury, too sad for the sympathetic. My injury, the bloody toe.

I know what you're thinking. It looks bad. Really bad. Perhaps I'll need amputation and a lifetime of therapy. Or perhaps I'll be doomed to a life of constant Band-Aid changes. Who knows. It is anyone's guess at this point. All I know is, my sock is stained, and so is my soul/sole. It is going to be hard for me to recover from this one. I just don't know where to start.

I guess it starts with courage.

Sigh...

"Would you like fat burners with that?"

Yesterday I ran to ballard and back. It was okay. Nothing fancy. Nothing out of the ordinary. No snot running down my cheeks. No farts. No weirdos trying to faux race me. No big deal. On the way back, I stopped in a store in Fremont. Should I name it? Meh, why not? Custom Smoothies and Sports Nutrition. My brother told me about Nuun tablets for hydration and electrolytes. Plop plop fizz fizz now you are a hydrated whiz!! I figured with my taste for anything alcohol flavored, I need all the help I can get in the hydration department. So I went into the store and bought a tube of tablets. The skinny beeotch behind the counter rang up my tablets, looked me up and down, and said "would you like fat burners with that?" WHAAA?!?!

I couldn't control myself. I flung myself across the counter (superman style), shoved her face in a pile of wheatgrass, gave her a wedgie, and forced her to eat 7 Reeses Peanutbutter cups. Of course, that was all in my head, as I tend to be a lover/sarcastic beeotch rather than a fighter. But still, I wanted to karate chop her. And I could have too, ya know, I took karate for a week one summer. I'm a transparent belt - so fierce you can't even see it.

What I actually did was glare at her and say "nah, I'm good." Didn't she know that since I started running I've shave two whole freakin' minutes off of my mile? AND lost 7 pounds (its probably all poop, but we won't get into that.) That's a big accomplishment and I'm sort of proud of myself. So there stupid skinny beeotch. Take your fat burners and shove them in your mean spirited gullet!

Man...I wonder if one of these days I'm going to have a nice post for y'all to read. They all seem to be pretty negative. Oh well, positivity is for after school specials. I like reality.

Special shout-out: DyLon I love you more and more everyday. Thanks for being my cheerleader (in a manly way, of course). I can't wait to marry you.

It's all uphill from here

I'm up to running 3.5 miles now. It feels good to be able to say that, although I know I'm behind schedule. Last week I ran around Greenlake on Monday and Wednesday. Monday was discouraging because it was 20 degrees outside and I ran SUPER slow. Like molasses in January slow. Wednesday was 43 degrees and I was able to shave 6 minutes off of my overall time. So...note to self: don't run outside in anything less than 43 degree weather. Friday I ran on the damn dreadmill. Man do I hate that thing! Regardless, I did have a little motivation as I was running. There was some cocky bastard running next to me in a yellow head band. He just looked like a douche. He had his dreadmill on speed "7" and was hauling ass...his yellow headband was soaked with douche juice. Anyway, he kept looking at me as if to say "ha ha, you're only running on speed 6, I'm a winner, you're a loser." Well, I'm not the type of person to let just anyone talk to me that way, even if it is all in my head. So I paced the hell out of him. I ran with him for a good 30 minutes. When he stopped running, I stopped and thanked my lucky stars he wasn't running anymore. Honestly, 15 minutes in, I thought I was going to die. But my competitive nature kicked in and I did my darndest to keep up with him. It sort of worked. I'm sort of proud of myself.
Last night I decided to run to Ballard and back. It was surprisingly fun. On the way back I stopped at PCC and got tortilla chips, a Guinness and Gorgonzola cheese. I can't think of a better reward. Well, besides a smooch from DyLon - but he was in Bellingham, so I had to settle for junk food.

Looking at my training schedule, I'm a little intimidated. I have to run 4 miles on Saturday. That just sounds like a lot to me, even though it's not even 1/3 of a half marathon. Does that make sense? I'm horrible with fractions...

I can do it though. Reid, Heather, and Miriam all say so.

Snot

*Warning* The following contains a real life account of a gross bodily function. If you are pregnant, have heart problems, or don't like boogies, feel free to exit . If you think this post will be anything other than ooey or gooey, it's snot.



Something must be said for the amount of snot my nose releases while I'm running. I'm not sure if there's an on/off button I can push before I start that will stop the flow of ooze, or if I'm doomed to leak a gallon each run.

On Monday I ran in the brisk outdoors. You know the kind of weather; the kind that makes you say out loud "holy frickin' christ!!" and then your nose faucet turns on. Had I know what my nose had in store, I would have opted to run inside on the darn dreadmil. Thankfully I had on a pair of those cheapy little knit gloves you get at Target. They are surprisingly absorbent and soft on the nose. Which brings me to an invention idea. Invention Submission Corporation take note: knit gloves of different absorbency. They would act much like a tampon or pad would (I know...this is where the boys reading this bail out) while providing warmth to your hands and a place to stash your snot. You could have light absorbency, super absorbency, and super plus absorbency - depending on the coldness of the weather. On Monday, it was a heavy flow day - I was in need of a super plus glove. On Tuesday I smartened up and carried a slurry of kleenexes with me - but those obliterated after one honk of the nose. And if you've seen my nose, you know its capable of some huge honks. I'll thank my father for that one...

Sidebar note: I bet the person that coined the phrase "the great outdoors" wasn't training for a half marathon in January.

On to less of a liquid topic. I took Heather's advice and used my inhaler for the first time 15 minutes before my run. Genius. Pure genius. Worked like a charm. Now my lungs don't feel like they have reached maximum capacity.

Milestone number one has been demolished (lung capacity). Now onto demolishing milestone number two (boredom). I've made a purchase recently that will help me track my mileage and hopefully keep me entertained while running. Here it is: http://www.amazon.com/Garmin-Forerunner-Receiver-Heart-Monitor/dp/B000CSWCQA/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=electronics&qid=1232570848&sr=8-1

You know, in hindsight, I wonder if this gadget will help to entertain me. I have a feeling it'll piss me off more that anything. "What the hell do you mean all I did was run .10 of a mile? I swear I ran at least a mile. Stupid hunk of junk!"

Brooke vs. the GPS watch. I smell a Lifetime movie!!!! I wonder which washed up actress they would hire to play me. Claire Danes? Lisa Kudrow? Bea Arthur? Really, it's anyone's guess.

Well tonight is my night of rest. Thank god. My body is sore and I've got a hankering for happy hour.

Peace.

Half Marathon Training and Complaints- Week 1

So I've made the decision to train for the Rock 'n' Roll half marathon on June 27th, 2009. Check it out here: http://www.rnrseattle.com/ What helped me to make the decision to run a half marathon? I'm totally beyond flippin' crazy. I also must give a blameful honorable mention to my sister-in-law Heather for being crazier than I am (she's running the FULL marathon) and convincing me that "I can do it!", and to my brother Reid for giving in and running too, and for the sharp cheddar cheese that keeps me at an unhappy dress size. Ah...the power of cheese.

The training for week 1 was seemingly easy-peasy. After all, I've been playing soccer at least once a week for the past 3 years and working out at least once a week on top of that. How hard could it be?

Hard.

Monday and Tuesday I ran for 15 minutes. Thursday I ran for 20 minutes. Sunday I ran for 2.5 miles. I ran into one little blip on Sunday when in the middle of my run, nature called in a big way. I think it was a long distance call... I had to pause regularly scheduled programming and make a bee line for the restroom. I know...too much information.

Back to the training...

15 mins, 20 mins, 2.5 miles sounds reasonable and easy right? Well, I'm running (pun INTENDED) into 2 MAJOR roadblocks. 1) When I was a youngster I was stupid enough to smoke. I believe smoking majorly f'ed up my lungs and made breathing while running impossible and 2) Boredom. At my gym the treadmills face a white wall that says "Please wipe your stations after use." There's only so many times you can read that before you want to up the treadmill speed to maximum and fling yourself off the back. "Whoops, sorry gym patron, didn't mean to fly into you, I was experiencing extreme boredom. It will probably happen again."

I found myself thinking of very odd things during my boredom state:

A Hall and Oates and Kenny G tour. Triple threat. Awesome.
Did the guy next to me just fart? It sure smells and tastes like he did.
If I licked the treadmill handle, I bet I'd get the plague...and herpes.
If I run 5 extra minutes, I could eat a slice of sharp cheddar and not feel TOO guilty.
The skinny beeotch on the elliptical machine needs to eat more cheese and stop moving like she's got a ginormous stick in her bum. In my head I will now refer to her as "Butt Stick Broad."

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not even considering quitting, I'm just complaining. In fact, for some weird reason I find myself even more motivated to keep at it. I know I can do this, I just have to remain positive and maybe get a prescription for a mood stabilizer.

Goals for week 2: 1) Start using my inhaler and quit complaining about my lungs. 2) Make Butt Stick Broad smile. 3) Run outside.

I can do it. Heather says so.

Peace.