Frosty Morning jaunt

My Dad thought he was being funny yesterday and said truly dedicated runners get up early and run BEFORE work. I was trying to finagle a way to run AFTER work by leaving earlier and not taking a lunch hour. Well, that didn't work. So he tried to get a rise out of me with the dedicated dig.

(Random Google picture, by the way. Trying to make this post a little more interesting)


Fine.
I went home late last night from work. Cleaned my room and organized stuff. Got my leggings and winter running gear all ready to go and was asleep by 10 p.m. the latest.

Cut scene to this morning.

My iPhone went off at a mere 6:30 a.m. I saw the sun peeking up over the ridge of hills across the lake. So I grumbled and threw my covers off and trudged to the bathroom. Spent more time than was necessary putting my contacts in with the brief hope that MAYBE the sun would work at hyper speed and warm up the pavement so I wouldn't look like a human icicle after 5 minutes outside. Brushed my teeth. NOTE: TERRIBLE AWFUL STUPID thing to do.

I looked outside again. I'll admit tying my shoes on almost made me cry. Now I LOVE the cold. But I love the cold because I'm usually running between 2 and 4 p.m. and I sweat like I'm 400 pounds. I sweat A LOT and normally HATE HATE HATE sunlight because of this reason. So the cold is my friend, normally. But at 6:45 a.m., when I've just gotten out of bed and it's 28 degrees outside, and the sun is BARELY covering a third of the pavement, I am not even close to partially thrilled.

But I tried to make the best of it. I opened the door and plodded down the driveway. The sunrise was pretty so for a moment I felt a surge of, "Wow, I'm pretty awesome and feel pretty awesome for being motivated and getting up early." It made me feel like those rock climbers or runners that you see in the Granola bar commercials. They drive a Subaru and go hiking with their dogs no matter what the weather. They eat all vegan, healthy food and wear burlap sacks for clothes. All their gear and accessories are made from recycled materials. Yeah. Felt like one of them for about...5 seconds. Then my lungs started to freeze over. And my ear cartilage started to crunch if I pressed it in against my head. My eyes were watering so bad that I nearly plowed over one of our neighbors in her hot pink velour bathrobe. GOOD MORNING WATERBURY! What a splendid day it is starting out to be.

About 2 miles in, I realized my toothpaste mistake. The world can deal with my morning breathe for a few miles next time. This was like my mouth was frozen in the open position. Yeah. Awful. I was pretty much gagging on my own spit while I ran.

By the time I shuffled through the front door, completely unimpressed with the fact I finished a super early morning run for once, I just wanted a shower and someone to complain to. Mom was still asleep and when I woke her up, she pretty much told me to deal with it, I have to work, so running early is my only choice right now. Then she went back to bed. Thanks, Mom. Those were some real helpful words.

But yeah...I'm gonna try and find a new headband that actually covers my ears and doesn't flap in the breeze. I'll admit that my ears and chest were 95% of the problem. Mostly my ears. I have a hat for next time, but I don't like to use it because of my ponytail. Just too much hair and not enough hat. So, maybe tonight I'll find a good headband when I go to the Mall for a few returns.

The plus of this whole adventure - I really enjoy the fact that all I have to do later are my core exercises and my run is done. Also, I realize I only have to do these runs 2-3 days during the week, then weekends I can run when it's a little sunnier, and if it rains or snows, treadmill and bike. So really it's not that bad. I just felt the need to write about it and now I feel better.

and how awesome is this?!?!

http://www.heraldsun.com.au/sport/superracing/cool-runnings-as-hooves-hit-the-ice/story-fn67tkww-1226270133346

They attach sulkies or saddles or skiis and hold on while the horses race around the ice. I'm assuming the horses have studded shoes too.

Running post

I haven't written about running in a while.
Mostly because I've had injuries, heart problems, strep throat. You know, STUFF, just getting in the way of actually enjoying the sport.

I got to leave work a little early yesterday (Dad doesn't like me running outside in our neighborhood when it's dark). I've been easing back into it slowly. I was on the treadmill in  Rochester doing 8 miles for a couple days in a row until I got sick.

That went up in flames.

So, this past Thursday, Jack got a gym membership. I went with him and biked, went on the treadmill, and even lifted weights. Something different for once.  I ventured into unknown territory. THE UPSTAIRS. Que scary music. It wasn't that bad.

So then Saturday, Sunday, Monday, I ventured back outside to run my hilly neighborhood. And I was thinking, I got to the point where I became so sick of it, that I wasn't enjoying it anymore. And then I tried to remember if I EVER enjoyed it. I think I did. At least, I enjoyed what it gave me and made me feel.

I remember that breakthrough race. Sophomore year of High School. Setting the scene here: Wolcott High's track. End of the meet. 3200m final. I was always just tossed into this event because I ran cross-country and couldn't sprint to save my life, even if an entire zombie apocalypse was trailing me. I'd probably just give up and die. That was the extent of my running talent. I was still heavily invested in competing with Bandit. So, it's a warm late afternoon day and I put my ugly pink Asics spikes on. I actually felt a little excited. And mind you, my warm-up in high school was stretching. I didn't run 3 miles to get my legs ready for a 2 mile race. That came later in my obsessive collegiate career. I got on the line, gun went off, and I RAN. Ran for REAL this time. I crossed the line and Walker looked at me. No congratulations. Just a: "Where the hell has that been all season?!" My time dropped nearly three minutes from 15:00 to 12:42. I missed qualifying for states by like 10 seconds or something. And that was it. I trained like a maniac all summer. Well, 3 miles a day at the lake was a maniac back then.

X-C went alright. Then track rolled around. 5:20 mile by the spring. 12:00 3200 by the spring as well. Next X-C season, undefeated until I caught mono. And so begins the long line of injuries and sickness. Winter track - 11:17 3200m. Outdoor - 5:16 1600m. Then, a stress fracture.

Once I hit college though, I was determined to prove to no one in particular that I could run. So that summer, once my ankle healed up, 8-9 miles a day from mid-July until I made it to Marist. It was like I was possessed. That turned into 10-12 mile runs PER DAY, along with 12 miles on the bike 3-4 days a week, plus weights, and an hour long core workout. This went on until I strained my Achilles after Sophomore X-Country season. And then started the decline. My mileage slipped up until the summer between Junior and Senior year. I got an inhaler and got my mileage back up and actually had a decent Senior year, but it was pockmarked with injuries. Per usual. Track season was alright. I got close to my 10k PR of 36:12. Within 12 seconds of it I believe. I ran through the summer and started to really looked forward to my half marathon debut. But that spark was definitely missing. It still felt like WORK. After Sophomore year at Marist, anything for track or xc felt like work.

But I also remembered, High School and that summer right before college, other parts of my life kind of fell apart and running was what made me feel GOOD. Paul and I weren't together and everything was extremely rough between us. Instead of spending time out on the lake tubing or jetskiing, I was pounding miles out every afternoon. I felt a little lost going into College. And even my first year of college, all I liked about it was running. I didn't want to do anything else because it made me comfortable.

And now here I am. I went out for my run yesterday and while everything burned and hurt from being sick and banged up, I still did it. I stopped after 4 miles to keep from overdoing it. But I would really love for 9 miles to be a walk in the park. I did a long core workout. And tonight, I'll probably hang out with the bike again.

But here is my question to all POST-COLLEGIATE runner. How do YOU keep that spark? I still love the sport. On days when I don't run, I feel guilty and morose. I sulk around. But getting out on the roads is tough. especially with work being until 4:30 and it's dark when I get out. I don't HATE the treadmill, but I want the strength back from doing all my runs outside. Where's that motivation? I missed an upcoming race deadline because of my strep.

I am in a slump I guess.

Although yesterday, I started to enjoy it again. Maybe it's because I haven't been able to do it. Maybe it's because it's not in a job-like atmosphere anymore.

Whatever the reason, I hope it keeps up.

Sorry if this was rambly. I was thinking about it yesterday. Didn't know what to write today. So here it is.

And I this made me giggle. hahaha

Happy Trails everyone.

Saying Goodbye

So I was in Rochester this past week.

I was productive too. Finished a huge chunk of my insurance licensing course.

I ended up with Strep somehow. So from Tuesday night to Friday night was a little rough. Thank God for antibiotics. I think. Still debating that.

I had a really great trip. We went out one night for Halloween, handed candy out to excited kids dressed as Angry Birds or zombies on Halloween night, saw Perks of Being a Wallflower (finally!) and cooked and caught up on Revenge episodes with Paul. Side note: The beginning of Perks of Being a Wallflower has the tunnel that Paul and I would drive through when he picked me up from the airport in Pittsburgh. It's through a mountain pretty much and comes out onto a beautiful bridge that shows you a good expanse of the city. I remembered it immediately. So cool. The movie was fantastic, for anyone who hasn't seen it yet.

But the real reason I'm writing, which is really difficult to do today, is because Jasper is gone. My 11-year-old, crazy, stinky, always smiling Lab had cancer throughout his entire body. They found it last Monday. Jasper had been throwing up all over the garage last Sunday at Jack's birthday and they took him to the vet only to find problems. He had a piece of steak bone stuck in his intestine and also had cancer everywhere. Even if the bone was removed, the vet said he had two weeks tops because his appetite was pretty much gone. We had noticed he wouldn't eat his dog food unless someone stood over him. And I noticed how he was puking a lot. And he even pee'd on my mom's oriental rug when I let him in the house. We are talking about the dog with steel kidneys here. He had the capability of holding his urine stream all day if we had to go away for something. He was a champ.

So Mom called me Monday afternoon and I almost dropped the phone from my hand. I had just finished running and felt as though my heart had stopped beating entirely. She said that Hurricane Sandy knocked power out at the vet's and they ended up not taking him until Halloween morning. She said he watched Dad with big sad eyes, almost pleading with him to fix him like he so often did. Paul commented that it was probably best I wasn't home to see it all. The poor dog kept drooling and barfing everywhere. He was weak. Monday night we figured out Skype on Jack's iPad so I got to see him one last time. He was just quiet.

Halloween day passed and I tried not to think too much about what coming home to the empty garage with the empty food and water bowls would be like. No Jasper to run up and sniff my jeans for those exciting Rochester and gas station highway stop smells.

We used to laugh about how he would pop his head out from under the garage door as it opened and he would raise his head as the door went up so it looked like his head was raising the door. Silly. Or if all the garage doors were open except one and he was outside, he would wait for the one you were opening at that moment and then enter the garage that way. He was just silly. It's instances like those that made us laugh after a long day at work or school.

And I can't even begin with his personality quirks. He was a wild puppy. Tearing clothes and the yard up in one fell swoop. We left him home in a rush one day to get to school. He was only outside maybe a half hour but we came back to find my mother's precious dogwood tree had lost a rather large limb and it was scattered around the lawn in splinters. Jasper was rather proud of that one and even helped us clean the sticks up. He was proud until Dad got home and started yelling. Then he was nowhere to be found.

We had a similar instance where my mom was watering a plant and Jasper decided he wanted water. So he stuck his nose in and mom batted him away. Rachael Vaughan and I had just gotten home from the barn and watched as the little tyrant spun around and bit the beautifully formed flower head off her plant. Just snapped it off, spit it out, and nonchalantly walked away.

Jasper is a type of stone. Ironic considering Jasper's favorite food wasn't dog food, or even people food. It was rocks. We caught him laying at the end of the driveway chewing. Dad would jack his mouth open and two or three rocks would tumble out as he fought for his head. Not only did he eat them, he passed them. And his love for them only grew. He loved to swim, but was terrified of jumping off the dock unless one of us ran and jumped with him. It took him until he was 9 years old before he would try it. But he had NO FEAR whatsoever of sticking his head underwater and coming up with rocks bigger than his own head. And he would deposit them either on the lawn or the big Jetski dock rock. He had a collection that we would routinely throw back in. Much like restocking a fishing pond. And by the time he turned 11, his teeth were filed down to nubs. Jasper was a show on his own. Moltys and their company would come over, most notably Mr. Ferrarri who was Jasper's biggest fan, and they would watch this nutty dog hunt around for a prize of the sandy variety.

There's other little stories that just show how he grew into our lives and became family. There was the day that Paul took him on the jetski. He wasn't a fan. There was also the day that Paul and Jasper took the surf bike for a ride until Jasper got bored and simply walked off the back leaving Paul to flip over.

And everyone had a voice to narrate his thoughts. It was always your basic, dopey, happy voice that laughed every other sentence. But we all loved giving words to his doggie persona.

I took Jasper for his last car ride with me about a week ago. He passed out in the back seat until I opened the window and he stuck his head out. Ears flapping, nose sniffing, we drove along and he wagged his tail. The Buick and my Legacy were his cars. He didn't want you to ask him to come, he demanded and expected the door to just be opened for him automatically.

But I think the best part of Jasper, and the hardest part of saying goodbye...is the fact he was always there, in the garage or in the kitchen hallway if I needed a neck to hug, or some fur to cry into (no matter how stinky it may have been that day). If I had a bad, I could sit on the steps with him and he'd push his nose around until I pet him for hours. Or we'd go outside and he'd get a superb grooming. The dog shed like no other. He was like another brother for me though. Although he was like an older brother for the simple fact he picked me up when I was down.

You were the best of the best, buddy. I hope doggie heaven has lots of Otises for you to go swimming in and find rocks. You'll never be forgotten

An overload of Jasper pictures:

Halloweeeenie is near. So I'll take a little trip to the past.

With Halloween coming up, I have to be honest...I already have TWO costumes ready to go. On my GAME this year. I even picked out a costume for Jasper but can't seem to find it online anywhere for sale. I think it's from PetCo. Wahh.

Yup. Love it. He'd be perfect.

So today, I want to discuss Halloween costumes. And true to my original promise of my old journals, this entry is going to probably sift through some fond old memories or zebra costumes, fairy costumes, and sky dancer dolls that helped create a lasting friendship.

I guess when you're a kid, Halloween costumes are a big deal because you ARE someone else for that day. I had a horse thing. So any animal that resembled one was fair game. When I was 4, that was a zebra. My mom got really into it. She bought fabric and a pattern from JoAnne's and set down at her old sewing machine to make me the best damn zebra on the planet. We had a stuffed head too. Although I'm not one hundred percent sure how she made that/bought it. Only problem, the head sat on top of my head and she had to walk around me the entire night HOLDING it upright. And it was hot. And itchy. Can you see where this is going? A whining 4-year-old with a grouchier parent chasing after them, holding a cumbersome zebra head (that was almost true to size if I do recall) more like a leash than a prop. Yup. That costume was never re-gifted to another fortunate soul.

Then we have the fairy costume. The BEAUTIFUL fairy costume that Lisa once again slaved over her sewing machine to make. Years later she overheard me describing it as having cheap fabric or how it was an awful color. Can we just discuss the glare and retort I received in about 0.2 seconds? It really was a nice costume. I must have remembered it wrong. I have a great picture somewhere of me at Nonna's table with a big cheesy grin on my face and a cookie in my hand.

A few years previous I was Jack Sparrow. I had some eye liner issues considering my mass of black gunk far surpassed even Johnny Depp's masterpiece of eye art. I think it was halfway down my cheeks by the night's end. But that costume was SPOT ON. Props to my creativity with that one.

Then there were countless wizard, M&M, jungle girl, and flapper costumes. I am repeating my Twister costume. Tried to be Rosy the Robot from the Jetsons (too expensive), and was even Tom Cruise last year.

But I also need to talk about my Halloween partner in crime. My neighbor in the blue house next door, Emily. We were best friends from the moment I walked through the little archway of trees and saw her playing with her SkyDancer. I was crazy for those things. They were cheap plastic with almost grotesquely perfect Barbie faces and crummy foam wings. And they had rather large chests for such dainty dolls that were supposed to "float" through the air. So you'd pull their little string/pullstart/whatever that spun them in a circle of death and they'd launch into the air and most always crash to the dirt, tree stump, driveway with a wing crunched up underneath them. They made better knickknacks to look at it in an 8-year-old's room rather than a serious toy to play with. And if it was muddy out? Forgettaboutit. So anyways, I walked over and played SkyDancers with Emily all day. Boom! Instant friendship. One silly day we sat and watched our neighbor's house across the street because she babysat us and let slip that she knew a friend, who knew a friend, who knew a friend's cousin, that knew Leonardo DiCaprio. So in our minds, that meant he was DEFINITELY gonna show up in a limo and instantly want to spend allllll day with two 8-year-olds. Chyea. Dreaming big on that one. Halloween also came EVERYDAY for us. We constantly played dress up in my mom's old clothes and dresses. One dress was a perfectly awful pregnancy dress with all buttons down the front and dragged across the floor. Whoever was the villain wore this beautiful masterpiece of ugly clothing. Seriously. It was a work of art making this thing as atrocious as it was. And then we would act. These intricate stories of knights or Batman or Backstreet Boys groupies. I don't remember any exact stories, just that we would hide under beds or run around the yard and our surroundings were so much more than our drab neighborhood.This ceased as we got older, obviously. Instead we ended up sitting on the grass with my old radio, listening to KC101 all day in the shade. Or in the winter, building snow forts and chasing our brothers through the yard. Then we moved on to watching movies instead of acting them out. Emily eventually moved away but we caught up last winter. Sometimes it hurts to look back on memories because no matter what you do, you can't bring them back. Because I'd give anything to have a carefree snow day with Em, playing dress up and making hot chocolate.

What made me think of this was a fairy commercial on TV the other day. It made me think of all of this - Halloween. SkyDancers. Emily. Dressing up.

As a little kid, dressing as someone or something else is so much more enticing. You escape being a little kid. Now, Halloween is more of a laugh rather than something to be taken seriously. I miss Emily. And Halloween as a kid. I don't even know where my SkyDancers are. Probably the trash. But the nice part is having these memories written down. Even though my 1st grade journal has a terrible hand drawn picture of a SkyDancer and one sentence saying "Tuday I Played with Emly." I was a champ speller when I was 7 or 8. hahaha.

My advice - GO DRESS UP AND BE MERRY!!!! Halloween is a pure excuse to act like a kid and GET AWAY WITH IT.

:)

Happy Howloween!

Stress Test Champ

I really don't have much to write about today...
It was a quiet weekend. I possibly came up with a new story/book concept but it needs some serious hashing out before I begin my foray into the world of fiction.

I had my stress test last week. What an experience that was. My heart rate never got over 173, although I felt like I was really tired and light headed. Apparently I was fine. I went for 17 minutes, which I was informed was one of the longest times in their office. I'm so stupidly competitive though that I wanted to try and hit the 20 minute mark that two other runners had requested to hit a while ago. My mom was in the corner laughing when I asked them why they stopped the machine. This is why I'm always hurt. I wouldn't want to do another stress test again though. I am the slowest walker on planet Earth, most likely. So walking, uphill, for 12-15 minutes, was NOT my idea of a good time.

And that wasn't even the end of the whole ordeal. I had to wear a holter monitor for 24 hours right after. That meant no shower and no "real" clothes. Sweats alllllll day. The no shower thing was really annoying especially due to the fact that I sweat an obscene amount no matter what I'm doing. Embarrassing.
So I spent my day, reading, on the couch. Sean came by later to get froyo and watch a ridiculous episode of South Park ("Sarcastaball"). My love of football made me laugh even the next day when I just thought about it.

I removed the monitor Friday morning and I'm pretty sure China heard me yowling in the bathroom when I tried to rip the tape off. For some reason, the nurse put X's over each of the little stickies. Actually, I KNOW why she did it and it was just protocol. Doesn't make any less excruciating the next day. The X's were mostly just to keep them from falling off when I slept. But they itched like no other and then took pieces of skin with them when I finally tore them off. OW. I shudder to think of it right now.

BUT...and here's the silver lining...The nurses said my stress test looked very normal and my heart warmed up and cooled down "beautifully" (their word choice, not mine). So I left there feeling a little more confident and positive. I haven't received any immediate phone calls about my holter results. So...until then, life looks a little more sunny. Although they did say my Bradycardia could pose a problem in the future if my heart rate continues to drop. Then I'll need a pacemaker.

I think it just stopped beating at the pure dread I feel toward an impending surgery.

I am a doctor's worst nightmare. Seriously.

I'll try for a more interesting/exciting/colorful post either end of this week or next week :)
I'm going to try running again today too. Someone tell me how taking a week off causes my adductors to seize up and be angry like they were last year? They had a break from running and they hurt MORE.

Doctor/PT's WORST nightmare. I really wasn't kidding.

A broken heart...the physical kind

So some people have already heard this story from me...while to others, this may come as a bit of a new shock.

I'll just go in chronological order and try to make sense of this whole ordeal.

I was in Rochester for the weekend. Drove up Friday afternoon. Did a 6.2 mile run around the campus. My hamstring and groin were tight, but were loosening up as I ran. So I went easy. Went out Friday night for a couple hours and then just went back and went to sleep. Normal, unassuming night right? Exactly.

Saturday morning rolls around. Paul and I decide, Let's make a big breakfast/brunch type deal! So I cleaned a little and chattered about going to finally get registered for my half marathon. I was seriously pumped to run at this point. Paul joked around with me and asked if I had ever had cumin before because he was putting it on the potatoes. It's in Taco seasoning, so yes, yes I have. We sat down, ate. And I took a sip of my iced tea and felt like a hard burp/air bubble/something catch high in the middle of my chest. It almost feels like heart burn. So I tried to ease it out. I've gotten it before and it just hurts for a minute. So I put my arms up and tried opening my chest. Started to tell Paul it hurt. I guess I slurred it and then went face down on the table.

Next thing I know, I'm "opening" my eyes (apparently they were open the whole time which freaked poor Paul out. I have huge eyes as it is). I was clammy and shaking. Paul was blowing air into my mouth and my exact reaction: "What the hell are you doing?" and I tried shoving him away. Yeah. Poor kid. I immediately knew where I was. I thought I had woken up from a ridiculously long nap or something though. Then I got scared and started shaking more. He said my color was back though. And he had literally caught me in one arm and called the ambulance with his other hand. So I could hear the sirens in the distance and the EMTs were there within minutes. Scary. I was pretty with it though. They asked me a bunch of questions and other than being cold, I told them I was fine. Asked them NOT to rip or cut my Marist sweatshirt off of me. So they gently helped me out of it. They did an EKG and all these tests and then told Paul I NEEDED to go to the hospital and they gave me a choice. Not being from Rochester, I just said take me to the one you like more. So I ended up in Strong-Memorial attached to the University of Rochester. Right where the race would be going around the next morning. Irony at its finest.

I also informed them they would NOT be sticking me with an IV in the back of an ambulance because, even though I'm sure they're pros at stabbing people with needles in moving vehicles, a random pothole can really ruin someone's day.  I did let them prick my finger and get my sugar level. It was fine.

Paul called my parents and followed the ambulances. He sat in the ER with me after they did another EKG and got a bracelet on me. And then we waited.

One doctor said I seemed fine and could probably run the next day! Paul gave him the death stare.

Two more doctors came in and said my EKG was deeply concerning and I would need to be kept overnight and have labs done aka NEEDLES. The waterworks began at that point. I was terrified. One doctor elaborated to inform me that I could have the problem that some athletes have been having where they just go into cardiac arrest O_O Yes. Panic more. The heart rate monitor I was hooked to proved entertainment of a sort for Paul who had never actually witnessed how slow my heart rate actually is.

I was cruising in the low 40's, mostly 38's the entire time I was there.

I dropped to 28 when she finally held me down and put the damn IV in and drew blood. And no painful IV is complete without a steaming side dish of guilt about how I should be donating blood because I have marvelous veins and I'm healthy. That nurse and I were NOT friends. So once that was done, they finally took me upstairs to observation. Got Paul a much more comfortable chair because he wouldn't leave me (Thank God. I kept telling him to go get food or a sweatshirt. He wouldn't. It was 9 and he was afraid they wouldn't let him back in. And my sweatshirt was like a girdle on him). He actually brought two bags of stuff that he grabbed quick before we left. My purse and some clothes. Bless him, he forgot underwear but remembered a sports bra and pants. hahahaha. I never even changed so it wasn't an issue. And my purse had sandwich crackers and granola bars so I'm guessing he was pretty glad he grabbed it.

We watched Angry Beavers on his tablet and he tried distracting me from the useless thing that was my IV ladden right arm. I was never even hooked up to medication or fluids.

They did an Echo cardiogram. Came back clean. The doctor that did it was new though and bruised up my ribs a little. "Ribs really get in the way, huh?" JAM JAM PRESS PRESS. You wouldn't say?!?!

The night was awful. The IV bugged me ALL night. It was in the crook of my arm/elbow/whatever and I was keenly aware of it ALL night. I could not get comfortable. Taking my contacts out was rough (and then I couldn't see my cute doctors the next morning! No glasses with me. DAMN). Plus, the poor guy on the other side of my curtained room (these weren't actual rooms, just three-sided curtain rooms. So you could hear EVERYTHING) was deaf and constipated. So he was tossing, turning, moaning, groaning. They helped him video chat with a friend, but he laughed or made noises the ENTIRE time. Probably until 2:30 am. Normally, I'd have fallen asleep, but....not in these circumstances.

They released me in the morning. I was refusing to eat their food because it was making me feel sick. And I wanted a shower. AND MY DAMN IV OUT. They said I appeared to have had a vasovagal syncope episode, which is common. It's a fainting spell when that vagus nerve in the chest gets squeezed or compressed, exactly as mine had probably been. But my heart was still concerning to them with its reversed t-waves and slow rate. So I needed to immediately see someone at home. But they let me go.

Paul and I could finally go home, get cleaned up, get real food. He watched me eat and made sure I ate slow. He said going in the kitchen freaked him out because everything was all disheveled. I felt terrible :( And then he drove me and my car down to Albany and my parents put him on the train home, since I wasn't allowed to drive. Especially not 5+ hours alone.

It was a mess. I owe Paul big time. First, for saving me. Second, for staying with me in a hospital all night. Third, for driving me home after all this. And fourth, for just being genuinely nice and understanding the entire time.

To update the situation:

I saw Doctor Chien at home. He is AWESOME. He thinks it was a vasovagal syncope and told me how to try and avoid them, because I'm obviously prone to them as some people are. He wants to do a stress test soon, once my insurance clears it. But otherwise, he thinks it's just my make-up. My reversed t-wave is actually normal into the mid-twenties. Especially for an athletic female he said. And he thinks I'm just very healthy. Nice to hear. And when Paul helped me lay down on the floor after I fainted, that's why my color returned. Although I'm sure the breath of air helped. I was only out 10 seconds. To alleviate these episodes, either lay down or cross your legs and lock your hands and pull across your chest.

So I'm hoping from here on out, it's good news. I've definitely been nervous all week and my ribs and back have been achey from the hospital stay.

The real kicker...the winner of the half marathon ran 1:28. I could have definitely won. I was pissed. And the doctors coming in saying, "All the roads are closed because of the marathon. Couldn't get to work haha" made me want to take an ultrasound probe and jab them in THEIR livers for an hour and see how THEY liked it. Grrr.

I also miss running. I feel lost after work without worrying when to go for my run and where. Who'd a thought I'd miss that!

 The hospital

 Emergency Department....couldn't resist some pictures in this long post.

Red Fox Red Fox!

So I had to accomplish a long run this weekend before I attempt to tackle the half marathon on Sunday. Well, it was beautiful weather on Sunday. I skipped Friday and Saturday. Achilles woes. So, I got started, had some good music blasting, and I made it down one road and was going down the street to turn down the next little section. Well, there was a rather large red fox running along the scrubby weeds along the side of the road. He was just ahead of me, bounding along.

So I grinned a little and was like, "Oh, this is pretty cool. My school mascot was the red fox. I'm running with a red fox. Awesome."

You would think.

So I go down the road, turn around and I'm heading back. Music blaring. Feeling good. I'm starting to round the corner and stop dead. The fox is SITTING in the middle of the road, watching me. His head was following me when I moved side to side. I stopped my watch by this point and bent down to pick up a handfull of small pebbles to toss in front of me to try and scare him back into the woods/defend myself. I know. I'm so capable of protecting myself against a fox. Pshh. I was screwed. He had me cornered too. I needed to go that way to get home. So I looked up from picking up the rocks and he's gone. I have my headphones off and I hit the start on my watch again. The coast seems clear.

FALSE.

I'm maybe 100 feet from where I stopped and he dashes across the road in front of me. So I SPRINT home by this point, but still had like 5 miles left.

Well, the fox was gone the next time I went by the spot about 15 minutes later.

So yeah. That was my encounter. It made me a little nervous considering it was like 3 p.m. and this guy was just hanging out in broad daylight. At the same time...maybe it was a good sign...Maybe. I mean, I would really like that.

So the half is on Sunday. I just did a treadmill run last night and today is downpours. All day. So....treadmill again. Yup.

All I want today is to take a nap on the couch and listen to the rain.

Some foxy photos in honor of my new BFF

Family Foundations

So I was doing my usual Facebook stalk around lunch time today and found this gem of a picture that my cousin used when she made the Facebook page for my Aunt's organization.

It's my Nonna and Poppa :)
My photography background loves this photo. But what I love more is that she used it as the head photo for the non profit Marie and Pat Ciochetti Foundation. My Aunt Ginny founded it in 2008 and collects various items to help families/kids/whoever who have fallen on some hard times. One example is her Thanksgiving food drive. Another is the coat drive. My favorite is when she collects books and backpacks from anyone willing to donate. I think the books are the best because of my Nonna's love for reading. I think if she could take a look at the Foundation today she'd be proud to say she was helping some kids enjoy a good book now and then.

I remember when I was little she would be sitting in her black recliner with the brass and glass light stand next to her. It was usually scattered with tissues, rosary beads, and prayer cards. But she ALWAYS had a book or two. I was little and would try to thumb through them, mostly because I liked how they felt in my hands. Heavy, comforting. And they just reminded me of afternoons at Nonna. When we would sit outside and eat Jello and Italian pastries/cookies that she kept in the oven in metal tins. My Poppa would be in his favorite spot on the couch if we were all inside. Michael would sit inside with him and ask him for Navy stories. He was intrigued by the invention called SPAM. I recently got a pair of RayBans for Christmas from my Uncle. The Wayfarers. My mom calls them my Poppa glasses because those were his eye wear of choice. He was blind and mostly deaf. So let's pain the scene: a young, dimpled Michael in his high socks and plaid shorts yelling in Poppa's best ear to tell him stories. Poppa loved these moments. In earlier days, we would all sit at the kitchen table, eat those tins of cookies or butter crusty Italian bread. And there were always tissues and a book. Sometimes nail polish.

My memories are chunky, somewhat blurred. I get a warm feeling when I think back to Nonna and Poppa. Not because I remember distinct moments, like Polaroids, but because I remember how I felt as a little kid. Nonna picking up my jean skirt to pinch my butt cheeks before I could scoot away. Her trying to speak Italian and I would obstinately refuse. How she would always have ice-cream (even the Neopolitan that not everyone was a fan of) or Jello at the ready. I remember her homemade pizzas and Christmas eve dinners. And the smell of their house that I cannot accurately describe but can still smell if I close my eyes.

The Foundation is a great thing. No one was more dedicated to their religion. And it wasn't for the sake of being religious. It provided a foundation for a family to grow on. And now it's a foundation for others beyond our family to grow and learn upon. Keep on reading. Keep on donating.

Here's a few links for more info:
Blog: http://ciochettifoundation.blogspot.com/
Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Marie-and-Pat-Ciochetti-Foundaion/353794734696741

And of course, Mount Carmel Church in Waterbury is the home base.

Fairs do make you feel like a kid again...

Last Friday night was the start of a local tradition - The Bethlehem Fair.
Short of arriving home with a monster headache and obviously unrelenting earache, I decided to skip the run for the afternoon and traipsed out into the sticky night to go to the Fair.

Best. Decision. Ever.

My mom's reaction: "I'm so glad you decided to join us! This is like taking you to the fair when you were little and rode the elephants and ponies!!"

Needless to say, I was not the only one having a good time. Not only was I entertained, I was the ENTERTAINMENT.

I pretty much RAN to the livestock barns and laughed at the chickens with the weird afros. Looked at the cows with their runny noses and dirty butts. Picked out an energetic gray bunny that I would never be allowed to bring home. And then, finally, shopped at all the vendors to find the best price on this stupid Baja hoodie. It was made more difficult by the simple fact that a size small clearly doesn't exist nor will it ever. I managed to snag one by the end of the night, along with a completely ridiculous/obnoxious/outofthisworld costume ring. I seriously love this thing and it is probably worth less than nothing. I know. Not possible. Continuing on...

I almost convinced myself into paying 10 bucks to climb this rock wall for little kids. The prize of 50.00 for staying between the lines was really tempting. The harness that was made for 8 year-olds, was NOT tempting. I passed that one by.

We found my dad and the parents ate. I wanted to go in the Mother Goose barn aka the PETTING barn. It got to the point where I said I was hungry, when I wasn't, and ate part of my mom's chicken sandwich thing just to help her finish it faster. Then I was in mini pony/mini donkey/mule/llama heaven for about an hour. The mule, Sarah, had just about the most gorgeous coat ever. She was so soft. All I wanted to do was play with her massive ears though. She started braying and my mom blamed it on me. There were two Shetland ponies there too. The mare was full of hell. They both had blue eyes too. Really striking against their dark brown.

Yeah. I had fun. Lots of fun. The smell of my clothes was evidence enough. And my hands were brownish black from petting everything within arms reach. Oh, and I had hobbit feet from scurrying around in flip flops the whole night.

And yes, I did have a tomboy moment as well. Saw a Polaris Pro R snowmobile for sale and HAD to stop to admire it.

My advice to everyone - go to fairs! They will make you happy.
I'm beyond excited to attend the Big E at some pojnt. My weekends are usually a mess and my parents are planning to take some vacation weekends in September. But I WILL GO. Even if it's the last weekend available. It's worth it for a few hours of lost childhood happiness.

In other news,
My body is having a weird freakout. I think it knows it should be doing workouts and running harder than it currently is. Hopefully a race will fix that. It definitely is all out of wack right now though.
I actually joined this new website that Kevin told me about... www.fitocracy.com
You get points for the work outs you do and if you have friends already on it, it's even more fun. They give you challenges and you join groups for extra motivation. It's definitely interesting. I need to start doing my planks again! haha Go check it out.

And it was close-up weekend in Otis. All the toys are out of the water. We started bringing stuff in and the lift is winterized. I woke up yesterday morning to brisk September air. My favorite. I definitely will miss certain things about summer, but Fall is my favorite. I think the only season I dislike is Spring. Fall and Winter are my favorites. Yup. Ok. I think I have things to do. Actually, I definitely do. Until next time - Go exercise and go to fairs!

Swimmer's Ear?!?!

Well, it's after Labor Day aka summer is over.

I just answered the phone at the office and one of my dad's more animated clients (I seriously think she plans an opening monologue to unleash as soon as I finish saying "Good Morning"), actually made a startling comment about the upcoming election and the dire need for jobs. She said something along the lines of how I am lucky to have a job when so many college kids come out with nothing. She's right. And for a moment, I felt content and happy with where I am. And then, I panicked. Mostly because I can't seem to find a job anywhere else. My resume is continually rejected without the common courtesy of a reply that the company even RECEIVED it. Yeah. Insert a "McCayla is NOT impressed" stand here.

-_-

In other news, I watched Mean Girls last night and my mom informed me that Jack finally had a sex ed class and he said that he knew everything they were talking about because he learned it from Mean Girls. He then continued on to spell Chlamydia - K-L-A. I laughed, of course. Texted Mike, who apparently broke out into peals of laughter in front of a group of random people on his way to pump some iron at the UConn gym. It's the little things sometimes.

And I FINALLY went to the doctor for my earaches.
Swimmer's Ear. Because I'm SUCH an avid and talented swimmer. NOT.
I somehow contracted it and I wasn't sure how. Then, lightbulb! When I am on the treadmill, everyone knows how I sweat more than your over-sized elephant in the desert. The result is that I often get pools of nasty sweat in my ears. It drips in behind my headphones, which I always wear to keep myself from dying of boredom. Bingo - Swimmer's Ear du jour. So, now I have these alcohol drops that I have to put in both ears every few hours. My life sometimes.

I have nothing else to say.

The Giants are playing tonight. My fall ritual of being glued to the television and cheering for my G-Men has resumed. I'm not complaining about the endless hours of television or commercials I shall screen.
GO GIANTS!!

Oh and I'm going back up to Otis with Jack on Friday. We're just perpetuating the inevitable end of summer. But really.

Summer is drawing to a close...or is closed

So here I am, just another day at work. My vacation was last week and I think I need a vacation from my vacation. How cliche. But what is bugging me today is the fact that all the grammar and high schoolers are returning to their brick buildings of higher learning and for the first year ever, I am without the smell and feel of new school supplies or new clothes.I mean, I bought a bra on sale from Aerie last night and some new Nike running shorts, but those don't really count. Gone are the days of searching for those just barely allowed khaki pants for Holy Cross that didn't look hideous. Or finding a sweater that allowed you to wear a polo instead of a button down every day of the school year. Or skirts that were short, but just to your fingertips so when you were pulled into the principal's office you could yank them down and get away with it. No more jiggling locks on the yellow and green lockers or the smell of somewhat new text books that gave me a strong impression of Lysol and mold. No more after school rush to change into running clothes or get down to practice. And then sit and complain about running.

This is the big girl world. You go to work. Try not to be too exhausted or get too awful of a headache and then go for a run, go to sleep, sometimes to laundry. Lather, rinse, repeat.

So, instead of continuing to reminisce, I feel like I should talk about my vacation.
Spent it in Otis.
But I went to Agawam to horseback ride. Then to Greenfield to finally see Bandit. He was as cantankerous as ever. He gave me a moment of ears forward, "hey, I think I remember you!" Then I touched his ear and he was angry/goofball Bandit again. Paul actually came with me and took pictures. He really liked this GIANT mare across from Bandit and then made friends with a gargantuan paint. The paint tried to bite his ankle under the fence. He was a feisty one. But seeing Bandit was fantastic. He had his own little paddock and he looked healthy.m They had him barefoot too, which was interesting. Gave him a hug and e-mailed the instructor again. I might try to get up there for a lesson at some point.

And the horseback ride in Agawam that Paul's mom bought was I think two Fridays ago. I rode this children's show pony named Spike. He was so tiny, but he definitely had spunk. I cantered him around the sides of the cornfields and Holly, the owner, let me jump him over some cross-rails when we got back to the stable. The first one, he did exactly what Bandit used to do. Ran up to it easily enough, then spooked and tried to stop in front, popped it, and then tried to run away. I stayed on, but was definitely rusty. Lost a stirrup. Grr. So I turned him around and went over a little cross rail line. No problems this time. We cantered to the second one actually. He was a little pistol though. Holly was like, "He would love you for a summer!" Yeahhh...not sure about that. He was ADORABLE. But I went through the whole "Who's the Boss" thing with Bandit and him spooking to get out of work. Not sure I want to do that again right away. Although who am I kidding?!? I loved every second of it. And I wasn't scared. The barn was absolutely beautiful. It was called Equine Boulevard and the owner knows Sarah from Frazier. Small world. If anything, the whole Friday horse experience cemented that I need to get back into it ASAP. I wish I had more money saved up or more time to work at a stable and pay for a few lessons.

Oh well...

In lake news, I got to do a little skiing and wakesurfing. The Mark Twain is in instead of the Malibu because it can fit in the low water. I just can't believe it's Labor Day this weekend. Next weekend is going to seem so quiet and dull. BUT...I'm considering doing the Rochester half marathon. I just wish I had someone to run it with me!! Any takers?!?!

I went for a 9 mile twilight run in Otis Sunday night and the weather was perfect for it. Made me think that I could still handle the half. We'll see. I need to do some thinking. The entry fee is 65.00. I'd hate to spend that if I'm really not ready for it.

PICTURES!!!!!!!

 Still argues with me hahaha

 Reunited!!!

 Paul's favorite mare

 Barefooting!

 Wakeboarding casualty

 Jack learned to barefoot

The day has arrived! Sort of

I'm posting a very brief blurb today because I'm just really, really excited.

I'M GOING TO SEE BANDIT NEXT WEEK!!!!!!!!!!

I contacted Stoneleigh Burnham and Bandit is still there :) The girl that replied, Stacy, said she had actually JUST used him in a lesson yesterday and I was welcome to visit during any daytime hours. I was just so relieved to hear he was behaving and in a good home. I'll maybe ask them, if they ever want to get rid of him, to contact me first because I would buy him back. He's about 16 now. Old man. And he had a lot of white so I can't wait to see him now. I'm just really excited.

And, I'm going riding on Friday at a place in Agawam. I"m praying they have English saddles and I'll maybe get to tool around a little. I already brought my boots, chaps, and riding pants up to the lake.  So yeah. Maybe seeing Bandit Sunday?

:) :) :)

The riding itch...and Bandit

So recently, I've had a major horseback riding itch/fever/whatever you would like to call it. I was looking through some old pictures and came to the conclusion that it's something I really cannot live without anymore. Sure, the running thing was great for a while. I'll still run. It's something that's become embedded in me. But I really miss the horses.

I miss getting up on summer mornings and driving out to the barn and seeing all the hay and dust particles floating in the early morning light. I miss the sounds of the horses snuffling in their hay and banging their feed buckets against the wall.


Most of all, I miss Bandit.

Bandit was unique, to say the least. My Dad loved to pat him really hard right in the center flat area of his head. That was their bonding, I guess. But Bandit was more to me than Dad's giant dog. He had his quirks. We always laughed about how he ate. You dumped his oats in and he would swing the bucket around on the wall eventually flipping it upside down and spilling his grain all over the dirt floor. He would then have to spend time nibbling around to get them up, probably ingesting more sand than anything. Dummy. He also picked fights that he couldn't finish. I'll never forget my just over 15hh horse starting a fight in the geldings' paddock. He picked on the bigger guys, of course. And after they got sick of his nipping and butt sniffing, they would chase him around the paddock as fast as his short little legs would go. This winter day, he actually jumped the over 5 foot fence that kept them in the paddock. In a thick winter blanket. He escaped unscathed and did NOT learn his lesson. He was perpetually covered in scrapes and "ouchies". Bandit loved Fritos. Hence his nickname - Frito Bandito. He also liked Turkey Sandwiches and Starburst. I learned this when my lunch was mysteriously missing from my tack box and he was munching away.

My mom always called the horses our Barbie dolls for the girls that never actually played with dolls. We would dye Tinkerbelle's mane and tail with food coloring. Sometimes blue or pink or purple...or all the colors we had. We spent afternoons just braiding tails or grooming until each coat shone. I told my friends on the high school track team that I learned how to french braid on my horse's ass. My mom was mortified. I don't remember how to braid anymore as I haven't had to in nearly 6 years. Another thing I miss.

I even miss the days of cleaning sheaths and being utterly embarrassed when your relatives surprise you with a visit at the barn. Rachael and I decided to be responsible riders and clean our horses'...man-parts. I had found a print out online that was helpful, although managing to be more humorous than anything. It was titled Mr. Hand. I actually found it again to post here:

Mr. Hand

So, we got our buckets of warm water and our slimy green Excalibur gel. I won't describe the process. You can click the link if you're really THAT curious. I will say that Bandit was NOT impressed nor pleased. So I'm pretty much mid way up my arm reaching under the brat when Aunt Pinky and Aunt Ginny roll up, all excited to see me and my beloved chestnut pony. Yeah. Pretty sure the first words were, "ADDIE! What are you doing?!" And they got back in the car to wait as I cleaned up the supplies and I'm pretty sure Rachael laughed off to the side. Never attempted THAT again.

All kidding aside, Bandit and I have great memories together. Our first event and show. Jumping over 3 feet and feeling like we were flying. Trail rides with our friends, sometimes to Poppey's to get ice-cream.
I miss everything about that booger. He would throw me into fences and drag me over telephone poles, but in the end, we got through all that. We got through his head shy issues and taught each other to be brave. Most of the time, I had to be fake brave and yell so he would just do it. Silly. But I learned to be real brave after a while. I miss how strong he made me feel.

I watch the Olympics now and I find it foolish for people to say "The horse should get the medal. The horse does all the work". It's a partnership. I'd like to see a horse get through those courses alone. The riders need to know what to do both mentally and physically. They are reading these 1,200 pounds animals and sending them flying through the air at the flick of a rein.

That's what I miss.

A Running post...what do ya know?

So this summer has been a little hairy with running. I'll be the first to admit how much I DESPISE the heat and humidity. So, unless I'm in Otis, I've been on the treadmill 3-4 days a week and then outside on dirt roads the rest. So half and half. But I've been running pretty much every day.

Paul went with me for a few runs in June. I really thought he was getting into the sport again. He pulled his Vibrams on and met me at the corner of the dirt roads, right above the beach. We took off at a casual jaunt. Then we hit the hill on Curtiss Hall. Oh my God. I always forget about this hill. I tried to keep talking and felt like I had a thick wad of cotton in my mouth. We stretched at the corner of Westerly, our turn to head home. Paul did not seem as thrilled about this run as he had when we first started out. I think he made it to the end of Brookman with me before telling me to just go as Moreau Hill loomed ahead of us. That was the last run he went on with me. Now he rides the Solo Wheel, occasionally. I guess that's what all the cool kids do now. Guess I'm not cool for resorting to my own two feet and dirty running shoes. But whatever. My runs are alone now. And I have to say, there's something that goes on during those runs that I wouldn't trade in or change. I see these houses and roads every summer, nearly every day, and they never get boring. I look at them and wonder what their families are like. How do they spend their summer days on the lake? How long have they been there? I know it's weird, but it makes the time pass. Then there are the days when I go way too fast because I see or hear something moving in the woods and my brain immediately reverts to - MOUNTAIN LION! BEAR! GO HOME! Yeah. Not cool. I know I could never out run either. And honestly, I have no tactic if I come across one.

Recently, Land's End has installed (I think that's the proper word here) plastic, yellow speed bumps. These things must be only about 4 inches high and they're two separate little strips that barely reach across the entire road. The first morning I saw them I was like, WHAT?!?!?! And proceeded to jump over them and make a big deal about it. Hey, I run this road every day. Gotta spice it up a little bit. I'm pretty sure these speed bumps are useless other than to be a great tripping device when I'm extremely tired. So, to you Land's End, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. I can just imagine the homeowners sitting, eating their lovely muffins and drinking their strong coffee, and laughing at the dirty, sweaty runner girl that's trying to "hurdle" these mini speed bumps. Oh well. I guess everyone could use a laugh now or then. I say all this now, but lately, I've been so tired that no hurdling has occurred. I've either stepped over or around them while secretly hoping a huge truck comes blasting through and crushes them to bits or twists and warps them onto the side of the road. They. Are. Pointless.
I'm waiting to see them in my neighborhood next.

In other news, I went for a jetski ride once the weather cleared last weekend. (Can we just discuss how MISERABLE sitting in the house for three days straight trying to watch the Olympics on a poor satellite signal was? Stupid Rain. And our phone got struck by lightning). I drove around the whole lake pretty relaxed and just looked around. I stopped by Overflow and it just made me think of how times and places seem changed. I miss where I was last summer, what I was doing. There are certain things I don't want back. (Marist, thanks for the four years, I DO NOT want to re-live you. Hands are clean. Champagna preseasons were probably the bane of my existence).  But last year had this quality to it. The people I saw every day and what I did...it all just felt so much more lively. Now I drive around and see all these For Sale signs and the Marina's garage doors were closed tight. Everything seemed shrunken and tiny. And then when I run, everything seems too big. I can't find a medium.

So, before I'm done, I also want to complain about the Olympics. They didn't show ANY of the Equestrian. And the Cross-Country jumping is pretty exciting. At least 8 horses went down over these jumps and the queen's GRANDDAUGHTER was one of the riders. The ENTIRE royal family was in attendance and NBC felt the need to show fencing and Men's INDOOR VOLLEYBALL. What is this world coming to?! If they cut the Track coverage, I will seriously feel the need to write a scathing letter. Maybe J.K. Rowling can lend me a Howler that will explode and hiss at them if they don't open it. So much for more equal coverage NBC. I'm sick of seeing just swimming, gymnastics, volleyball. Either spread it out better between your channels, or cut down on some of the time on certain events. I did not need to see an entire volleyball game. Whatever. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one upset about this. Most people don't think horseback riding is a sport. (But ping pong and Badminton are?!) I'm sorry but you have to be pretty strong to get a 1,200 pounds or more animal to listen to you and jump over 4+ foot high obstacles.

Rant done.

Got a weekend of speed bump hopping ahead of me.

Speech impediments and foreign language abilities

So this morning I had a rather large, ugly black carpenter ant crawl over my foot in the bathroom. After flicking it off and unceremoniously flushing him/her down the toilet, I thought back to one of my family's favorite Jack stories.

Jack is my younger, 13-year-old brother. He's the youngest in the family, but I am 8 years older than him and Mike is 6 years older. So this means that all of Jack's hilarious moments have been remembered and recalled many times.

Jack had a slight speech impediment as a little kid. So one day, he had to be around 2 or 3 years old, he was playing trucks in our den when he saw my Dad crouch down by the patio door with a box of weird traps. He butt scooted over, because at this point in Jack's life, this was how he got around if he didn't feel like getting up. He peered over my Dad's arms and chugged away on his binkie before taking it out of his mouth and looking around for me and my mom. We were both watching my Dad and Jack cracked a smile and remembered that Mom had asked my Dad to set up the ant traps earlier in the day. So Jack, displaying his wonderful memory, happily yells, "Mommy! Daddy's settin' up ant craps!" Well, Michael thought this was hilarious. He told everyone.

This story, however, pales in comparison to the great vanilla debate. My cousins were great fans of this story. Jack, still with his speech impediment, had trouble with his 1's. They sounded more like r's to the close listener. So VANILLA sounded much more like VANEERA. Well, Lauren, Steve, and Allison loved to imitate Jack and say VANEERA every chance they got. Jack was not impressed, mainly because they couldn't seem to say it right. So, when Mom asked who wanted some Vanilla ice-cream with their cake at one family party, all my cousins piped up that they would like some VANEERA. Jack was mad: "It's not VANIRA, it's VANEERA!" Yup. Apparently even a speech impediment has a correct pronunciation. Or he could have possibly been trying to really say Vanilla and just couldn't. Poor guy. Fast forward to about a month ago - June 2012. Lauren is on her honeymoon in Tahiti. I receive a picture and text from her. The picture is of Tahitian Vanilla beans, or, in Tahiti -Hira Vanira. As Lauren laughed, she said that Jack didn't have a speech impediment after all! He was speaking Tahitian! hahaha. It just added to the multilingualism in our family. Michael used to sing a Japanese version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town, but it somehow ended with a mais oui...French. Yeah. And then...I have one more story involving myself. Of course.

My Nonna and Poppa had a neighbor, Marie. She was very Italian. She was also very traditional in how she dressed and looked. Little scary to a young kid, especially a 2 or 3 year old, because her appearance was a little rough. She was the sweetest lady though. Always offered me some watermelon (maybe that's why I love it so much now!) and would sit at my Nonna's outdoor glass table and jabber in Italian. Well, I never enjoyed being left out of conversations. I still don't. So I walked on over and stared up at Marie as she spoke to Nonna. She looked down at me and I voiced my opinion in a great slew of "Babada Babada Babada Ba". Addie Italian! Poor Marie looked at my Nonna and asked, "What did she say?!" She must have thought I was really saying SOMETHING. But no. It was my way of joining in. Nonna and Aunt Ginny couldn't even explain to her what had happened because they were laughing so hard. When Aunt Ginny told us this story a few months ago, Mike was immediately reminded of Peter, in Family Guy, when he tries to speak Italian. Hmm...

I know this post kind of spider-legged out, but I hope it entertained a little. I just got to thinking while I got ready for work this morning and this seemed like a fitting post for today while I'm waiting for the massive thunderstorms to roll in. I'll put some pictures too. Make all my rambling a little worthwhile.

The baby bird under our dock a week ago. Jack brought me over with the paddle boat. 

 Otis sunset

 Jasper channeling Kujo while my mom shot him with a water gun. haha

Back to the happy boy

Klutz Kween

So, I haven't written in a while.
4th of July has come and gone. The fireworks over Otis Reservoir have also passed. It seems the big summer milestones are completed and it's the slow decline through the final few weeks until kids return to school and the fall colored denim jeans make their return to clothing stores.

I will not be among those people returning to school. After 16 plus years of going to Staples for school supplies or American Eagle for some new clothes, I just continue on with life as usual. Weird feeling.

Side note: this Green Mountain Keurig coffee is terrible. It tastes like sweetened battery acid. That's going down the drain later.

Anyways, I guess what I want to write about today is something that happened over the weekend. Some may find it humorous, others may think its stupid. I don't care. I feel like writing. And this is what the topic for today is. Klutziness

So this past weekend, I was at Paul's and I had to use the bathroom. We dropped my brother off down at the beach and were gonna go back down, but I was NOT using the port-o-potty, or, even worse, the woods. So instead of waking my whole family up with the garage door, Paul was running home and said I could go there. Great. Problem solved. Used the bathroom, grabbed a water, and we sat and chit chatted for a few before I realized how late it was and needed to head home. So he walked me to the door, deciding he was just gonna stay home. I said goodbye and was walking to my car. Don't you think my ankle gives out on me as I'm trying to make it down the ONE STEP there is?!?! I heard a crack like a twig and go tumbling into the vinyl siding of the house, giving my right knee a lovely black and blue to sport for the next few days as well. Paul either heard or saw me fall through the glass on the door and cam running back outside. I think he thought I hit my head. Nope. Just couldn't stand on my left ankle. And it freaking HURT dude. So he carried me inside and put ice on it. He was freaking out just a little bit. Said I scared him. I thought he'd know me better by now. I trip over my own two feet at least 10 times A DAY. I'm also accident prone. A klutz. It amazes me I can run 8-10 miles without crashing and burning, but I get home and manage to fall up the stairs or trip over the edge of the carpet.

I was able to drive myself back home after putting it up for a little bit with ice. I told my mom in the morning and she called me a ding a ling, just as she herself slid and fell down the first couple stairs in Otis. Yeah. I see where I get it from.

Can we just flash back to when I had my wisdom teeth pulled? They gave me medication to knock out a 350 pound man. I believe I was around 105 pounds at this time. Yeah. So I get home from my surgery, all loopy, completely unaware of the blood pouring out of my butchered gums. I'm serious. This stuff was great. I didn't feel anything. Don't remember certain things. But when it wore off and I took more with my night bowl of oatmeal, I was in for trouble. First of all, my family blames me, but obviously I was in a drug induced stupor. Do not give me oatmeal when you know the pieces might get stuck in an empty socket! So an oat swims its way through my mouth and gets a vice grip on that socket. I'm not even thinking, go back with my tongue to remove it, start sweating, and then everything goes back. Michael says I sounded like a dying animal. Mom says I hit my head on the kitchen table. I woke up and thought I just took a nap and asked why they put me on the kitchen floor. They're both shaking and my body is all sweaty. So they sit me in a chair, only to have me conk out again. Ambulance shows up by this point and a rather large woman hefts me into her arms and tosses me in the back of the truck. Not a fun night. IVs are not my favorite thing in the world. I tried biting the nurse when she put it in my arm.

And the next day...I felt human again. That was all a dream right? Nope. I managed to have a procedure that is relatively routine turn into a medical disaster.

If I learned anything, it's that I am accident prone. I usually have the worst happen in many situations. I was the band aid queen when I was little. I christened our newly paved driveway as I propelled from my bicycle, skinning both knees and elbows. I fell up the stairs and somehow landed squarely on the only sharp object, gouging a scar into my knee. And let's not forget being tossed off Sprinkles and breaking my arm when I was 7. Or sliding down a hill on loose acorns during X-Country. OR wearing a loose sweatshirt and getting picked up by the wind during practice. Yeah. Murphy, thanks for your law. I'm pretty sure you should add my name to some part of it.

Disclaimer: I still attempt stupid things every day. These past events have ceased to hinder me. I just make sure I have a large stock of band-aids or gauze on hand.

Sorry for the lame post today. I don't really have much else to say. I don't think anyone cares about my work days at the office, or how I went for a run in Otis the other day and swallowed about 20 gnats (ew).

I might be going to see Savages tonight. It has Selma's Hayeks in it as my dad would say. Maybe I'll write about the movie tomorrow. It won't be as good as Ted. I couldn't stop laughing during that one. We'll see.

The saga of the new and old bikes...aka bored at work

Today is another 95+ degree day. Fun, huh? Instead of having my day off from work like I used to on Wednesdays and Thursdays, I'm at the office, not the lake. The prospect of going to run at the gym later doesn't exactly thrill me either. So I guess I need to start adding some more creative material to this website. My portfolio isn't supposed to be the only creative aspect. I don't have my journals with me at work, which is not conducive to me getting started on THAT idea.

I will add, because I'm super excited, that I purchased a Haro bike yesterday for 100 bucks. Anyone that has seen me bike in Otis, knows what I blast around the lake on. For those unaware, let me give you a brief description. It's a Toys R' Us special. I say that with all the sarcasm I can muster. It's titled the Pacific Wanderer and I thought I was the cat's ass riding this piece around when I was ten. Yup. It's a hot magenta pink with garish lettering along the side. It's meant for, well, a ten year old girl.

Fast forward to today. I am now 22. I'd like to add that I did manage to grow at least a foot or two since I originally received the bike. So now, the bike is covered in dust and spider webs. The handle bar grips were starting to crack. So father decided it would be a marvelous idea to slather oil all over them. Not only do I need gloves because the cracked rubber manages to rub my hands raw no matter how many callouses I develop, but I need the gloves to keep the oil off. If I forget, my hands are a mess for the entire day, leaving greasy hand prints on everything I touch. I'm a huge fan of toast, so the toaster pays big time after morning rides and mom is NOT happy.

The other problem is obviously the size of the bike. I'm not scared by the pink color. I actually think it's a unique way of saying I love to run and bike so much I don't care what color or style I'm sporting. Really. But I literally have the seat almost popping out of the hold it's hiked so high. I"m afraid that one hard bump and I'll be tossed to the side of the road, seat flown off to somewhere else. Oh and my gears are hopelessly broken and messed up. I think I'm in 10th gear and it's more like 21-death-of-me-on-a-hill gear.

This bike was my only form of exercise when running wasn't an option. So 14 miles rides were not uncommon pretty much EVERY DAY for 2 -3 months. And the hill behind Katie's...let me just say that hill could make even the toughest people, cars, animals, whatever...cry. It sucks.  And I still go for rides after runs or if I'm feeling beat up. It was time to move on.

Pacific Wanderer, you have treated me well. Even after the past four years of particularly harsh abuse from our 14 mile rides around the lake, you have served me well in a sport you probably should never be used in competitively.

I raise my iced coffee to you and say you can now have a break. Other than when mom wants to ride you for a mile. Which might actually be worse than me riding you. Oh well.

As for you, Haro, I hope you're ready. LACE UP YOUR TIRES!

Here are some pictures I found online...very similar to how my new bike looks...well,
I bought it from my neighbors, so it's not exactly NEW. Just new to me :) Mine also has a very cushy seat and different handlebars.