Mojo's Tri Adventures

New Beginnings

2007-10-04T20:37:00.002-05:00

I will not delete this blog, it's part of my history. If you'd like to keep up with me, this is my new blog!

Some Days...

2007-06-21T09:01:00.000-05:00

Some days are hard because I miss you two so much. I made chicken and dumplings the other night and I thought about you, Monty. I remembered how I'd share all the meals I'd make with you. When I'd serve you chicken and dumplings, you'd eat everything but the peas. I'd pick up your bowl and find a dozen peas at the bottom of the bowl. I couldn't figure out how you could pick them out.

I thought about you Missy, when it was thundering. I remembered how scared you were of the loud claps of thunder because they sound like a shotgun. I almost went and opened my closet door because that was your favorite hiding place. I hope someone opens the closet for you now when you are scared.

I thought about you both when J and I went for a hike at SanLee Park. For nearly three years, before we moved to the farm, it was our daily ritual. You two would be so excited as we pulled up. You'd make high pitched squeals and dance around with delight in the back of the Explorer. When I released you, you'd barrel down the trails tracking the deer and chasing the squirrels.

The owner of the obedience school came into the restaurant the other day. After I waited on her, I remembered all the learning we did together, Monter. You were the superstar of puppy class, learning how to sit after just a few minutes. You excelled in obedience and I was always proud to be holding the end of your leash. Although you were never fast in agility, you always were careful and hit all the contact zones. I loved that bonding time with you, how you shined.

“As I look back on all that's happened..growing up, growing together, changing you, changing me -- there were times when we dreamed together, when we laughed and cried together. As I look back on those days, I realize how much I truly miss you and how much I truly love you. The past may be gone forever..and whatever the future holds, our todays make the memories of tomorrow. So, my lifetime friend, it is with all my heart that I send you my love, hoping that you'll always carry my smile with you, for all we have meant to each other and for whatever the future may hold.”

Hopscotch Champion

2007-06-07T08:01:00.000-05:00

A few evenings ago, J and I were sitting on the porch after I came home from work. Lulu and her Mama, Tammy, came outside. Lulu thinks I am the gift goddess now. Everytime she looks up and sees me sitting in my chair, she'll hold her little arms up in the air "HI Chelle!". At first, I just dropped flowers down to her. Now, I have to think of new gifts for Lulu. Some evenings it's candy, Special K 90 calorie snack packs or yogurt. When I was cleaning out the soap shed, I found a Halloween rubber ducky soap I'd made and brought it back to the ghetto for Lulu. I ran inside the apartment and fetched the Count Duckula soap that was in a clear box tied with halloween ribbon. I dropped it down to Lulu and she acted like I had given her a golden egg. She wasn't quite sure what to do with it, she was just excited about the clear, square box and fancy ribbon. I thought about childhood innocence. A Reese's peanut butter cup brightens her entire day. She kept trying to give the Duckula soap back to me as if she didn't deserve it. I kept assuring her that it was hers to keep.

Tammy came outside with some chunky colored chalk sticks for Lulu. She ran to the asphalt and started scribbling. Mama D. came outside and grabbed a chalk stick and started drawing boxes. When she was finished, she had created a hopscotch board with an extra box because she had been drinking one too many. Mama D. started jumping across the board with Lulu following behind like Tigger. Mama Dee called up me, "Come on down here, Chelle. Let's have a hopscotch match.

It was sprinkling and I was tired. I was going to pass up the offer until Mama D. started talking smack about how she could beat me. I told J I'd be right back. He asked where I was going. "Inside, I have to change my shoes, I can't be a hopscotch champion wearing flip flops!" I went inside and put on a brand spanking new pair of blue "Mephisto" All Rounders. I had bought them for work but they informed me I was only allowed to wear black or white shoes on the floor. I walked down to the board and Mama D. said, "Damn girl look at those shoes!". I said, "Mama D. you must not know 'bout me." Beyonce's song, "Irreplacable" was one of my anthems when I left. I used to listen to it over and over, I think it secretly drives J crazy. Anytime someone smarts off to me now, I reply, "You must not know 'bout me, I can have another you in a minute."

I don't think J knew how competitive I can be. Mama D. and I discussed the rules. I haven't played hopscotch for 23 years. I found a good rock and it was on like Donkey Kong. I threw the rock into box one hopped over it and picked it back up after the turn around. Lulu gleefully squealed like a little pig as she watched Mama D. and I compete. When Mama D. saw she had some stiff competition on her hands, she decided to change the rules. Now, when I picked up the rock after the turn around, I wasn't to touch the ground with my free hand. Tammy was keeping score. J was trying to keep Lulu occupied by drawing pictures with the colored chalk. Lulu was the rock stealer. Everytime I threw my rock, she'd scurry across the board like a little mouse and steal my rock. Instead to making her hand it over, I would find a new one which messed my lead up some because I would have to judge how hard to throw a new rock.

When I got to box eight, Mama D. was stuck on box five. Her rock just wouldn't stay in the box. Tammy shouted out, "Look at Chelle's legs! Go legs, Go!". That was all the encouragement I needed and I cleared the board and became hopscotch champion. The rain picked up and J and I went inside. The next morning when I went to work, the drawings and the hopscotch board were gone, washed away by the rain. For about twenty minutes that evening, I felt that childhood innocence again. Nothing mattered but the rock and hopping across the board and I giggled like a seven year old.

Gardenia, Sweet Pea and Flower Bomb

2007-05-30T06:50:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I went to the farm and cleaned out the soap shed. It wasn't easy. I felt a mixture of emotions. Sadness because it's closing a chapter in my life. Happiness because I remember how much fun I had creating new recipes. As I packed up my fragrance oils, I found gardenia, sweet pea and flower bomb. Fragrances I bought for my Mom and sisters. I felt excited for Redfox, she's a waitress that works with me. She came with me to pack them up because she's interested in starting a soap making business. Last week, I gave Redfox a lip balm and the last bottle of lotion I had made. I got a phone call from her after work full of praise and excitement. She said my products were the best she'd ever tried. She thought I could be a millionaire. She wanted me to bring the goats to her house and we could go into business together.

But as Sherm(a cook I worked with at the steakhouse) said, "That chapter in your book is closed now, Bay." It is almost painful to go back to the farm. It's just as painful to look at all my soaping supplies. I drove all the supplies over to Redfox's house and unloaded them. I wanted to cry as I listened to a CD I found in my soap shed I had playing in the car. I briefly told her how to make some incense and bath butter. She was like a kid in a candy shop and didn't know what project to start. She called me with some more questions later in the day. Her daughter had come home from school and they were going to be soap makers together. I was happy for them, I hope it brings Redfox joy and a sense of creativity. Redfox has been waitressing since she was 13. It's taken a toll on her, she has problems with her arms from carrying plates for so many years. She was out of work for six weeks. They had to put a cast on her arm because she was in so much pain. When I told her I'd teach her about soap making, she said, "I think you're the angel I have been waiting for." That made my eyes well up with tears of hope for her future.

There is a few reasons I am not interested in soapmaking anymore. I guess it reminds me of my past and it sometimes hurts. I also feel like I conquered soapmaking, I could whip out a batch of soap blindfolded. Finally, I am ready to start a new chapter. My passion has always been cooking. When I was six, I remember making sugar cookies all by my lonesome. I got the canisters of salt and sugar mixed up though. When I proudly took my first cookie to my sister and her face contorted like Medusa, I thought my heart would break. I didn't realize that I had made salt cookies by mistake. I threw out the salt blocks and started again. I did make some decent sugar cookies by the end of the day. I knew I wanted to be a chef when I was 16. My Dad didn't think it was the proper profession for me though. Especially after I finished chemo. He said being a chef would be to difficult, the long hours on your feet. Following your dream is never easy though, Dad. I have learned to sacrifice.

I will go this week and take the placement test to enroll in the pastry chef program in the fall. I took a sample test yesterday online and I aced the english portion. I was very lost when I got to the algebra, it looked like chinese to me. I've got some studying to do, math has never been my strength. I am confident after studying for a few hours, I'll pass the math portion just fine. There is a woman that comes into the restaurant and she's opening a bakery. She gave me her card a few months ago but I misplaced it. She came back in on Memorial Day and wrote down her information again with a "Please Call ME!". I think it would be more fulfilling to work at her bakery but I don't know if I can afford a cut in pay. Waitressing is hard work but the harder you work, the better the service and that equals better tips. I'm just not sure at this time what path I should choose but I tucked away her note and phone numbers in a safe place.

There were two men that came into the restuarant every morning around 6:30am for breakfast. They always drink coffee. Every morning, I would bring one of the guys his coffee and cream, he'd say, "Thanks so very much, Michelle. I appreciate this more than you know." I have gotten to know people not by their names but their faces and I have memorized what they drink or usually eat. One morning only one of the men came in for breakfast. I asked about his friend, the thankful friend. "Jack is in ICU, he started bleeding in his stomach and he lost so much blood. He's not doing so well." The "appreciate it more than you know" guy was sick!

It made me feel sick because I missed him that morning, his happy smiling face thankful for just a cup of coffee. I felt life was so unfair. So, after work I went and got "Jack" a get well soon card and dropped it by his work place. In the card, I wrote to him about how he always brightened my day and I would appreciate it more than he'd know if he got better soon so I could bring him some coffee. The next day, his friend came in and told me he took the card to Jack in the hospital and read it to him because he was in a coma. I have asked about Jack every time I see his friend but it's always the same, "Not so well." On Memorial his friend came in and like every other day, I asked about Jack. His faced dropped, "You didn't hear? Jack died on Friday." And for a moment, in the middle of a busy breakfast rush, I thought about how'd I'd never hear Jack's appreciating words and a few tears escaped from my eyes.

And as I look down from my ghetto porch after a difficult day, I sometimes think of Jack. Because I should just appreciate being alive. No matter what I have lost, there will be more to gain. I won't forget the man that made something so simple as a cup of coffee seem like a gift from heaven.

For the Love of Pork Rinds

2007-05-22T12:04:00.000-05:00

Last night, I tried a new snack. We were sitting out on the porch having a drink and my neighbor, Lumpy, came outside with a bag of pork rinds. He offered J and I some out of his freshly opened bag. At first, I hesistated. Pork rinds? Aren't those fried pig skins? He said that his bag was special because they were spicy. J reached in the bag and gobbled three of them up. I didn't see him gag or foam at the mouth so I took a pork skin from Lumpy. It was light. When I bit into it, it had a nice crunch. It was airy like Cheetos but with a salty, spicy kick. I asked Lumpy if I could look at the bag. They aren't that unhealthy. 4 grams of fat and 8 grams of protein. I was hooked, Lumpy gave me another handful. I sat and watched the hummingbirds with J, drinking a gin and soda munching on fried pig skins. You know what? I bought two bags of pork rinds today. One bag was BBQ flavored the other was hot and spicy. The bonus is that a bag of pork rinds only costs 79 cents! We'll share our bag with Lumpy tonight on the porch.

Miss Morgan is the oldest tenant living in the complex, she's 88. She's always trying to keep busy doing things outside. She loves to work. She worked for the railroad in Georgia for 35 years. Most mornings, you will find her outside raking pine straw. She has a plastic sheet that she loads up with the pine straw and drags into the woods. She only weighs about 95 pounds and I sometimes worry she'll fall while dragging her heavy loads. She's always admiring my flowers on the porch. She was especially fascinated with a planter I brought home that is stable on the railing because it has a cut out on it's base. Last week, I went to the plant farm and bought her a deck railing pot, a bag of soil and some flowers. You should have seen the joy in her eyes when I brought it to her. She was worrying herself to death about planting them. "How do I get them out of the little pots? Should I break up the roots when I pot them into the large deck pot? Should I do all the pink flowers on one side or the purple? How many times a day should I water them?" I assured her they would be fine, I picked out hardy plants that were meant for the shade on her deck. She said she was going to plant them after her nap. She put them right in front of her door and left the door open so she could keep a close eye on them.

A few hours later, I heard a knock at the door. It was Miss Morgan, "I can't open the bag of soil, I have the shakes too bad." (I think Miss Morgan has some sort of palsy. One day, she was trying to walk down the steps with a cup of water. She had spilled half before she made it down four steps because her hand was shaking so uncontrollably. I carried it down the rest of the way.) I was in the middle of cooking dinner so J offered to help. He went outside and helped Miss Morgan repot her flowers and placed them securely on the railing. Later that evening, Miss Morgan came outside with a spray bottle in hand. "I thought they could use a little refresher after their traumatic replanting experience." She gently spritzed every flower with a Cheshire cat like smile on her face. She checks on those flowers several times a day. I think they are the most loved flowers in a five mile radius.

I splurged and bought myself something a few weeks ago. I have always had a love for jade. I have always wanted a jade bracelet but all the ones I have tried on locally have been too large. I even drove to Raleigh a few months ago but the ones they had for sale at the Asian market were too large again. I searched for them online and had a hard time finding small ones still. I finally found one. It's description said, "Fit small hand only." I took a chance and ordered it. I was so excited when it finally arrived yet nervous too because jade's not cheap and I wanted to fit correctly. When I picked it up, I knew it was meant for me. Before I even tried it on, it felt right. It fits perfectly and always feels smooth and cool on my wrist. I get many compliments on it. I always am careful because it can break if I hit it too hard. J even said he is drawn to touch it. Guess who likes holding on to it the most while sitting in my lap? LuLu.

Finally, I got a card from my Dad yesterday. He didn't write about anything deep. He just told me about what was going on his is life. We are going to get together in June. He signed his card, "I Love You! Dad" Those three words and the exclamation point was a big deal for him. It meant a lot to me too.

Both Sides Now

2007-05-17T07:31:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time there was a triathlete that lived on a farm but her life changed. Now she's a waitress living in the ghetto! I didn't know where to start this entry so "J" said, start with "Once upon a time."

I guess I'll begin with "J". Who is J? He's a wonderful man. We've been together for a couple of months. He's my age. He has beautiful hands and eye lashes. We've both been through some hard knocks in life so we understand each other well. We spend most of our time talking, laughing, cooking and loving. If all goes well, we will be going to school together in the fall. He can cook some awesome enchiladas. Nights that I had to work late, I'd find dinner ready on the little table in the apartment. He'd iron my work pants and shirt for the next day. He's thoughtful and a great companion.

I'm not working two jobs anymore. I quit the night job because it was just too draining. I didn't feel like I was living, just working. I am much happier now probably because I am more rested. I have the time to buy and tend to hanging plants for the apartment porch. I even have a hummingbird feeder. It's amazing how the little things can bring so much joy. I spend a lot of time sitting on the porch in the evenings starting at the fuchias and petunias. I'm excited when a hummingbird buzzes past my head like a F-16. I bought a baby charcoal grill. I had never cooked with charcoal before, only gas. The first time I used it, I had to eat some extra crispy chicken that wasn't too tasty because it tasted like lighter fluid. I learned to wait until the coals completely ash over. I can cook some ribs now that will have people slobbering downstairs.

So, I live in the ghetto. I'm really not kidding. When I tell people about my apartment, if they know where it's located, they say, "What?? You live in the ghetto?" I have become more street smart. I learned to deadbolt my door when I saw someone use a credit card to open a doorknob lock. A couple weeks ago, J and I went strawberry picking. We carried the flat of berries upstairs and we were going to make strawberry daquiri's. I started the blender and I heard a knock at the door. It was Mama D. with a cup in hand, "What you got going on in there?". Mama D. is a friend for life now, especially after I shared some of my homemade collard and turnip greens. She paid someone to come and braid my hair that day. There is little Lulu. Lulu is 20 months old. The other evening while sitting on the porch, the police came and arrested someone. I heard Lulu downstairs questioning, "Who dat? Who dat? Is dat the po-po?" I love Lulu. I'll call down to her and she'll look up at my apartment and say, "Hi Shell." I'll pick some pansies and petunias from my pots and tell her to catch. She'll hold her little arms in the air while I drop flowers down to her. She'll carefully collect them all and run to her Mom, "Mama, look Mama! For you Mama!" I hope that Lulu will always have pansies and petunias raining on her pretty little head.

I have started using coupons and buying Food Lion brand grocery items. J and I even hung up a clothes line on some trees behind the apartment because drying the clothes costs almost $3.00 per load. I love the smell of clothes on the line. All day at work I can smell the air outside. Someone even told me I smelled like "Snuggle" the other day. There is a clothes line phenomenon. No matter how much fabric softener I use, the towels still are crunchy. I told J that it was natures way of exfoiliating after a shower. Once, I feel asleep and forgot about the clothes on the line. I went to work early the next morning and when I got home, Mama D. had taken my clothes off the line and folded them all so they didn't get rained on.

I have learned to forgive. I called Don the other day and thanked him for helping me experience some wonderful things. Without his help, I wouldn't have got to compete in eight triathlons last year. He helped me with farming and starting my soap making business. I also wrote my Dad a letter and forgave him too. My Dad and I have had a strained relationship for several years. It doesn't matter if they forgive me. I just feel better not having bitterness and anger in my heart. I made a copy of a song by Joni Mitchell and sent it to my Dad. I am still learning and growing and I can honestly see both sides now.

It's Been Awhile

2007-03-26T09:53:00.000-05:00

I finally have some time to update. I have a new lap top and thought about my blog yesterday at work. Aimee, one of my triathlon friends came into the restaurant to eat breakfast in the morning with her new fiancee. She asked if I remembered what I was doing at this time last year. She reminded me of the bike ride that Jesse, Meg, Kurt and I went on at Morrow mountain. It seemed so long ago, I was so much more innocent and naive then. My demons back then consisted of finishing in the top three of the novice division. Life can change so quickly in a matter of one year.

I am working a lot, probably 45-50 hours per week. I do have Monday/Tuesday off from both jobs which is great because it's like my own little weekend. I get my bills paid, go to the laundry mat and go shopping. Time seems to go by so quickly now. I can't believe it's almost April. I sometimes look out the window at work and admire the Bradford pear trees blooming and feel sad. I wish I had more time to be outside and enjoy nature. I did enjoy all the time I spent outside training for triathlon.

My jobs waitressing are going just great. I feel comfortable now and know how to communicate and strike up conversations with strangers. Whatever I do, I put 100% of myself into it. I think I'm a good waitress, my tips are good and I receive quite a few compliments. It seems like the compliments come just at the right time, when I need them the most. What flatters me the most is how many customers remember my name. It's nice when I walk in at 6am and hear, "Good morning, Michelle." or when I'm leaving at night at walk through the bar and hear, "Have a good night Michelle, drive home safely." There is one couple I wait on everyday Sunday morning, before church. The husband has cancer and the wife always leaves me three indian silver dollars for my tip. I have been saving them. I told her a week ago how much they meant to me. One day, when I have a child, I'll give them the silver dollars I have been saving and tell them about this time of my life. I have some great customers and I do my best to make them feel special and appreciated too.

Friday's are still my most difficult days, 17 hours of working as a waitress is physcially and emotionally taxing. Even though my ass may be dragging, I still must smile and give the best service possible. Last Friday night, at the end of my shift, I was so tired that I couldn't wrap silverware properly without really focusing. It's supposed to be two forks, one spoon and one steak knife per napkin roll but I was wrapping two spoons. Simple tasks become difficult when I'm so tired. When I finally get home, a shower seems as difficult as the 1.2 mile swim at White Lake.

I still cook when I have the time and share my culinary creations with co-workers and people that live in the apartment complex. I have some people at work that will pay me for my homemade honey mustard dressing. There is an old lady in the apartment complex, Needa, that is 88 years old. She can no longer drive so she is sort of stuck here. She'll go for walks everyday and is a happy soul. I have started bringing her food several times a week. She is so sweet, she'll watch for me to come home and bring back my Gladware. "Oh Michelle, those chicken and dumplings were so delicious. I have been looking out the window for you to come home. I have memorized your car and license plate number." She's going to turn 89 soon and I'll make her a birthday cake to celebrate.

I do have some difficult days. Yesterday was one of them. I was tired after work and I have a cold. There is a pond behind my apartment and I went down to watch the sunset. A pair of mallards were on the pond and I fed them some bread. I thought about my animals. I thought about how at this time of year, I would be incubating baby birds. I thought about my goats and how they'd normally be kidding about now. And most of all, I thought about Monty and Missy. I miss them so very much. I cried.

I have seen Monty and Missy once since I have left. I took them for a walk at the park, then to Sonic and we ate popcorn chicken, french fries and they split a hot fudge sundae. Then, I took them to the petstore and they picked out a toy. We had a great time and then Don came to pick them up before I had to be into work that afternoon. Don is very angry with me and it's difficult to see the dogs because I must see him too. He won't let me just go to the farm to pick them up while he's at work. He insists on being present when I pick them up. I sometimes wonder if it's more difficult on them to see me too. Like are they waiting for me to come back? If I don't see them, maybe they'll just forget about me and think I died. I feel torn a lot when it comes to the dogs. I feel like a bad mother that abandonned her children. My lease expires in July and I may try to find a place that allows animals. I need to think it through. I don't want to move Monty and Missy if it would be more difficult on them. I will be working and going to school. They have the 25 acres on the farm to roam and a doggy door to use to go potty at any time. They deserve the best and I don't want to make their last few years more difficult. My heart aches for them and I desparately miss them when I have some quiet moments to reflect.

I am proud of myself. I never thought I could take care of myself but I'm doing just fine on my own. It feels great!

New Horizons

2007-02-10T11:35:00.000-05:00

Everything is falling into place for me now. I have a routine and I'm becoming more comfortable and confident. For awhile, I was scared, I was learning. I am enjoying my jobs. Waitressing isn't the easy work but I have never been one to take the easy road. I am making great money. I have made some new friends and met some wonderfully helpful and supportive people. I used to be weary of strangers almost distrustful but I'm learning that people are mostly good.

Friday's are hard days for me. I work for 16 hours at both jobs. The evening job at the steak house, the other employees were very kind to me last night. They gave me the easier section, the section that required only breaking down the wait station at the end of the night. They didn't have to do that, they could have made me break down the salad bar or mop and sweep. They knew I was tired and they cared. Tonight, I will do the hard side work and buy everyone a drink at the end of the shift. Most of society is helpful, caring and loving. I'm embracing that and I feel like more love will come back to me.

Did I tell you that I'm going back to school in the fall? I'm going to become a pastry chef. My long range goal would be to work at a resort/hotel as the head pastry chef on a tropical island. First things first though, I have to go get the degree first. I will start at a community college this fall full time. I'm really excited!

No Sweat

2007-02-01T11:48:00.000-05:00

I started waiting tables at the day job yesterday. You all were right, the codes are easy, it's the prices that I'll have to work on. I worked a double shift yesterday. I worked this morning and again tonight. Friday will be a double shift too. I think it's good that I'm keeping so busy. I do get some down time at night to think and reflect. I'm meeting new people, I'm opening up more and learning to strike up conversations with strangers. I feel like I can be more kind to people now. A smile and asking someone how their day is going means a lot to some folks. I now know how it feels to be alone.

I'm having sleeping issues. I don't know if I thought I needed eight hours of sleep but for the past week, I wake up every morning around 4am. I go to bed by 11pm. Maybe I'm excited about future and life. Sleeping isn't as important right now. I just hope I don't crash and have a Sleeping Beauty meltdown in a few days.

My apartment walls are thin. I can hear everything, even the man snoring next door. Geez! Maybe that's why I can't sleep. I like my little apartment, it suits my needs just right. I am hardly home anyway, only at night after work. I got a care package yesterday from my sister. I appreciate the small stuff a lot more right now. She sent me oatmeal, granola bars, M&M's, gum and tuna fish. She knows me well and what I like. I have learned that I can survive off of limited food choices. She also made me a CD, I love to hear new music. Like I said, the small things mean as much as if not more to me than lavish presents. Here is one of the songs that she had on the CD she sent.

I'm going to the gym now. I'm still lifting and doing cardio. I got teased at work today for bringing in my own lunch of salmon, asparagus and spinach pasta salad. I feel like it is more important than ever for me to care for my body. I'm working hard so I need to eat well and exercise. If I eat crap, I feel like crap. Can't be feeling like crap when I need to smile at customers!

“Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan "press on" has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race” ~Calvin Coolidge

Memory Game

2007-01-30T11:44:00.000-05:00

I just finished morning training at the other waitressing job. I have to memorize the entire breakfast and lunch menu. I have to use codes, like 2 om-sm saus-hb-tst. That's one over medium egg, smoked sausage, hashbrowns and toast. I have to memorize all the prices too. Remember the game Memory when you were a kid? I used to be good at that game. I hope my childhood skills will help.

So, I'm trying to think of the best way to memorize all the prices and codes. Any ideas? I was thinking about flash cards. Maybe write the code on the front of the card and price on back? Any better suggestions? Anyone want to play order up? :)

Just Checking In

2007-01-29T14:43:00.000-05:00

Hello,
I'm at the public library in the internet lounge, I can blog after all! I will be starting a second waitressing job tomorrow morning. The job at the steak house is going just great, I made some great money on Friday night.

I'm all moved into the apartment, I finished unpacking everything yesterday. I have a sense of freedom and independence now that keeps me upbeat and positive. My apartment isn't much, just one bedroom. The bathroom is so small that you could shit, shower and shave at the same time. I love it though because it's mine.

I need to go because Mom is here with me. We had lunch together and I'm taking her to see my apartment now. I'll check back when I can, I love the library. I haven't visited it for almost ten years. Thanks for all the kind and encouraging words, it means a lot that people who don't even know me personally care. xoxoxox

Finding Myself

2007-01-25T06:28:00.000-05:00

The dreary black uniform for waitressing wasn't so bad after all. I even had people compliment me. The restaurant owner said she loved my pants and I thought black pants were just boring old black pants. My training went well, they offered me six night shifts for next week. Waitressing on the main floor, banquets and hostessing. I filled out another job application before I went to training for daytime waitressing. This owner was very excited too, I go back Friday. I'm surprised how easy it was to get a job. I doubted myself, that I was competent enough to get hired. I'll get more into that in a minute.

Therapy didn't go as well. The therapist didn't bullshit around and said that at this time, we cannot get marriage counseling. It would be more helpful if we got therapy individually because right now, our goals are not the same. I did learn a bit about myself and take responsibility for my personal issues that hurt my marriage. The therapist told me I have lost my autonomy. Autonomy is the inherent drive for self-determination, self-actualization and self-fulfillment. Movement from dependency to autonomy is inherently a dynamic of self-actualization, self-determination and self-efficacy. I have nobody to blame but myself. People have told me I am so strong and I may be strong in some ways. I guess I started telling and doing things I thought people wanted to me to say and do. I kind of lost myself.

This didn't happen overnight, some of it probably goes back to childhood. Without the emotional nourishment from warm feelings from parents, a person's emotional system is not fed and is not strong enough to feel good about being independent. Suppressed negative feelings tie up a great deal of energy which might otherwise be used for growth. The release of frustrations or the resolution of conflict allow the ego to be free to grow. Unresolved emotional hurts are probably the greatest road block to developing the proper amount of autonomy.

I will not go into how I lost autonomy in my marriage specifically. I am moving out today though. The therapist did say that this could possibly make our relationship better. The reason being that I am taking steps to bring back my autonomy. I am making the moves to become independent, I will start believing in myself. Last night, when I was driving home from work, I actually felt a little proud. I know I'll have a hard road ahead of me but each journey must begin with a single step.

New Day, New Year, New Beginning

2007-01-24T07:26:00.000-05:00

I hate to leave on such a sad and depressing note. I actually hated writing what I did yesterday because it makes me feel like a failure. It is the truth though and this blog has always been real. I got a job yesterday afternoon, waiting tables. I'll start training tonight. I have to go buy some black pants, black blouse and black comfortable shoes. Kind of fitting, all black like dressing for a funeral. I woke up and saw the beautiful sunrise this morning though, bright pink and blue. It was full of cheer and hope.

My Mom loved reading all the stories I wrote while we were on the airplane together. We were laughing so hard sometimes that we woke up the sleeping passengers. She also cried reading the post I wrote about BOB but thanked me for writing something so kind.

These pictures are the way I'd like to be remembered. Happy and with a big smile. I'll try to still blog, I know I'll have some great stories from waitressing. Remember, Mom always said I was like Lucy Ricardo and she's Ethel. Just imagine Lucy waitressing!

Hardest Week Ever

2007-01-23T12:25:00.000-05:00

I had a wonderful time in Puerto Rico but my heart is so heavy now, it's hard to believe I left paradise last Friday. I'll cut to the chase, my marriage is in real trouble. I spent the morning filling out job applications and looking at places to rent. I cannot tell you exactly when things started to go wrong in our relationship. It just has been many small things that built up and were never dealt with, our mole hills turned into a raging volcano.

It's almost as if someone has died. In reality, maybe our marriage did die. It's so hard to say goodbye to everything we have built and created together during the last ten years. It's even harder to say goodbye to our future plans and dreams. I cannot continue to live in unhappiness though, I know my husband isn't happy either and he deserves better. We cannot communicate without arguing. I feel like we just struggle, two live wires that create friction. I'm tired of fighting, I just need some peace.

We are still good friends, we still have a love and respect for one another. The past three nights, we have been able to talk about how we have hurt each other and the mistakes we have made. We are able to cry and hug each other for comfort. I do not want that to change, I want to leave on a positive note. We have had many good times, I want to remember those too.

Tomorrow, I turn thirty and I will see a marriage counselor with Don. Not the way I envisioned my 30th birthday. I know that life is full of surprises though, I shouldn't expect anything. I probably will be moved out by the end of the week. This is one of the hardest parts, packing up my clothes and toiletries. There is such a finality to it. I want Don to stay here, I couldn't support the farm and I don't want to have to move the Dobermans when they are so old. We'll probably sell the goaties, I already took Falcor to the bike shop to be sold.

I have to admit that I am scared. I have depended on Don for so many years, I will have to learn to take care of myself. I'm a survivor though and I know deep down I will be okay. I wanted to say good-bye to my loyal bloggers wouldn't worry. I'll try to check in and hope everyone has a great season! Run-bike-swim hard!

Love is like grass. If you fall on it, it may leave a stain and some temporary pain. But you'll get over the pain, it will eventually stop hurting. Now maybe the stain ruined your favorite pair of jeans, or maybe it was nothing special that was ruined, but either way the stain remains there. And with time it will begin to fade, but it will always be there, a permanent reminder that you, too, once fell.

Two Tickets to Paradise

2007-01-11T07:53:00.000-05:00

Last night, I spent some time printing out some stories I have written. I think I killed an entire forest of trees. I cannot believe how much I've written! I only printed out the stories which I talked about my family or Mom too. I have almost an entire three ring binder filled for my Mom's reading pleasure during the flight. I'll ask her to write a comment for the stories because you know there are two sides to every story. She'll probably remind me of some things I left out.

Mom called last night and she's is so excited. I'm funny about things like this, I don't get real excited until I'm boarding the plane. Mom keeps wanting to make sure we'll have everything we need and we don't get robbed. She says when we get together, we are like Lucy and Ethel. That I probably will try to get our baggage off the carousel and get taken for a ride 'round and 'round.(Actually that sounds like fun) Don keeps telling me I shouldn't jog, he thinks I should use the treadmill. He thinks I'll get abducted like that poor Natalie in Aruba. I'll miss him, it will be the longest time we have ever been apart.

I got to plan this vacation. I made the flight reservations and everything! I chose this place, Paradisus of Puerto Rico. It's an all inclusive resort, we have the royal service garden villa. The pool picture alone almost made me fall out of my desk chair. My Mom loves to play golf, she's the lady's champion at the golf course in her development. The course looked great. Anyway, I hope I chose a good vacation, that it's as nice as the pictures.

Well, I better get this day started. Got to swing by and get my TB test checked by hospice before I leave. I know I passed, my arm has no mark. I'll get my last lifting done for an entire week, today's back and quads. I think I'll pound out some single leg hack squats today that will leave me walking like Frankenstein when I board the plane tomorrow! Gonna burn them up and put on my ugly face.

Have a great week. Mojo's outtie!

Bonker No More and Learning How to Listen

2007-01-10T08:13:00.000-05:00

Saturday was beautiful and our normal long cycling day. You may have recalled my post about "the biking fool" and his inability to judge mileage. He was there on Saturday so I finally took my husbands' and fellow bloggers' advice. I brought a five dollar bill with me.

Hallefuckingullah! I have seen the light. I cannot go longer than one hour and fifteen minutes without calories anymore. Our ride was at 1pm and I had already consumed a bowl of oatmeal with blueberries, four egg whites w/one whole egg, a tuna sandwich on whole wheat with a small salad but I'm telling you, I am an eating machine. Around mile twenty, we stopped at the gas station and I refilled my water and bought a "Zone Perfect" bar. I really wanted a banana and some trail mix but they didn't have any fruit.

Eating half way into the forty mile ride made all the difference. I think I have been a victim of Bonk in the past. When I didn't eat on long rides, the last 8 miles were pure hell. I would watch each tenth of the mile slowly go by, my legs would burn and feel like lead. I wanted to bite someone's head off like Kitty tortures the mammoth mouse when Bonk invaded my body. This Zone Bar kept me fresh and peppy and I was zipping down US 1 at the very end of the ride at 23mph. I will no longer be a victim of bonk, I will end each ride bright eyed and bushy tailed from now on!

I met with the hospice coordinator yesterday for three hours of training. He had three stacks of papers stating they couldn't find any dirt on me- driving, criminal and credit. I have have never had a traffic ticket in my entire life. Now, that is something I'm proud of. I'm not saying I don't speed, I just haven't got caught! We went over things I can and cannot do as a volunteer. I cannot give any medication, I cannot move a patient, I cannot take patients or family members in my van, I cannot change diapers and I cannot except gifts.

The most important thing I took away with me from yesterday's meeting was how to be a good listener. I think my most important role as a volunteer is to be the best listener possible. I need to let people share their feelings of anger, depression, fear and frustration without offering an opinion or advice. When someone is terminally ill, you can't say "everything will be okay" or "I understand". Every situation is different and although I am a cancer survivor, my experience will be very different from an 80 year old man dying of colon cancer. I must actively listen with no judgments or ideas of my own. Quite frankly, the only words I think I'll have to offer when someone tells me their story will be, "I'm sorry you are going through this, can I help?" and "Thank you for sharing with me."

My Mom and I are leaving for Puerto Rico on Friday for a week. It will be our first mother/daughter vacation. I am going to print out some stories I have written about her from this blog to read during the flight. She's never seen this blog before. I am looking forward to spending some time just with my Mom. Mom is paying for the entire trip, she says she wants to enjoy a nice vacation with me before she dies. It kind of shocked me when she made that comment, it seemed so dramatic. She acts young but when I started thinking about it, Mom is almost 70. I know we will have a wonderful time, we always laugh together and I know we'll create great memories. I'll also practice using my newly acquired listening skills.
"So when you are listening to somebody, completely, attentively, then you are listening not only to the words, but also to the feeling of what is being conveyed, to the whole of it, not part of it." ~Jiddu Krishnamurti

Remembering the Simple Pleasures

2007-01-05T07:11:00.000-05:00

My state of mind has changed in the last few months. For some reason last year, everything seem rushed. I always felt like I was under some sort of pressure, like fighting against life. I have a hard time putting it into words. I was so busy trying to become someone or something that I lost myself. I stopped being grateful.

I now have peace of mind. I can't really tell you how it happened. There was no defining moment when I light bulb went off and I said, "Ah-HA! This is what I have needed." I'm finally happy with just being myself and I no longer have the need to prove anything to anyone. Because I wasn't happy myself, it was hard to be kind to others. I find myself smiling, complimenting and chatting with strangers now. Just last night, I wrote a letter to the owner of the gym I use raving about an employee that is a hard worker. I doubt I would have done that a year ago, I would have been too busy thinking about myself.

Last year, I forgot about the small things that made me happy. When we first moved to the farm, I used to take the goats of a walk or spend time handing out treats every evening. Last week, I started this evening ritual once again and I forgot how good it made me feel.

Don has started coming out with me every evening too. Not only do the goats enjoy this bonding time but Monty, Missy and the kitties love it too.

It's almost if they put on a show for us. The goats jump around doing Vanilla Ice moves, the kitties run through the pasture like a bat out of hell, Monty rolls around in the grass with a big grin.

Away from the TV, computer, telephone and radio I am able to just enjoy nature and the animals. I now realize how lucky I truly am.

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.
It turns what we have into enough, and more.
It turns denial into acceptance,
chaos to order, confusion to clarity.
It can turn a meal into a feast,
a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.
Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today,
and creates a vision for tomorrow.
~Melody Beattie

Harder To Get Into Than Fort Knox

2007-01-04T07:49:00.000-05:00

I went to the local hospice office yesterday to pick up the paper work for volunteering. There is a lot more to becoming a volunteer than I expected. Background checks, driving history check, references, training and possibly vaccinations. At first, I was taken by surprise. All this just to volunteer? As I was filling out paper work, I started to understand why they require it.

I don't think my Mom would have wanted to leave Bob with any old Tom, Dick or Harry. I think if you are a hospice volunteer, it's an honor. People are trusting you to come in their lives and help during a very venerable, needy time. You don't want some crazy in your home stealing things or someone that's had three DUI's driving you to a doctor's appointment.

Some questions on the application. What skills/interests do you have? Guess which ones I checked? Computer, I am a notary and the best one they had on there? Pet therapy! Couldn't you see me bringing a baby goat to see someone? Or my Beloved Bed Hog Boy? That's right up my alley! Maybe if someone had a mouse problem, I could bring the murderous kitty with me. She could show off her hunting talents to the public!

For areas of interest, keep your britches on because I checked a lot of options and added an "other". One on one visits, shopping for patient, community outreach, monthly volunteer newsletter, providing respite care. My favorite one listed, cooking and baking! Oh yes, I could be Betty Crocker for someone else. I love to cook. And one I listed under "other", housekeeping! I could have my cleaning binges in a new home. Something about cleaning is so great, after I'm done I feel such a sense of accomplishment. I have toyed with the idea of being a house cleaning lady. Now, I could fulfill that need on a volunteer level. The box I did not check for areas of interest, child care and gardening.

The only thing that bothered me filling out all these forms was the hepatitis B vaccine. I have a problem with vaccinations because I my body tends to react to them poorly. Last year, I cut my hand on a knife and had to get stitches and a tetanus shot. The next day, I had the most awful neck and jaw pain and a temperature of 103. It lasted only 12 hours but I had some sort of reaction. I couldn't lift my arm for days either. Hopefully, I can sign some sort of waiver declining the vaccine.

Now, I need to meet with the coordinator and they will do some screening and call my references. Hopefully, all will go well and I'll be good enough to become a volunteer. I feel really excited about this new door opening in my life. I think it will bring me a lot of fulfillment. Hopefully, I will be able to touch the lives of others in a positive way.

The Messy Murderer

2007-01-03T08:15:00.000-05:00

I've been on a house cleaning binge. I recently purchased a can of Lysol and was excited about all the uses. I sprayed shower curtains, stripped the beds and sprayed mattresses, disinfected telephones and light switches. It will never replace my love for Clorox Clean-Up though. I have many pants and shirts ruined because I get a little Clorox Clean-Up crazy. My latest cleaning binge consisted of scrubbing all the floors with Clorox Clean-Up, especially corners of the room, the nooks n' crannies. The bathrooms and kitchen were sparkling and the fumes of bleach could give you a head rush.

I feel like I need to disinfect the house because we live on the farm and you wouldn't believe the poor creatures the cat drags in. Kitty is the ultimate predator. I think she is even starting to look like a murderer.

Just look at those glowing eye slits! For some reason, every poor creature she catches, she feels the need to bring it inside. We have a dog door for the Dobermans and Kitty knows how to use it. I thought it was endearing when she brought in her first little field mouse. "Good Kitty!" Or when she caught the house mouse after patiently sitting in front of the fridge like a statue for four hours. "Smart Kitty!" I even opened a can of Fancy Feast when she was killing flies in the house during the summer.

Her killing rampages have gotten completely out of control. She isn't bringing in little mice anymore, she's bringing in quarter pound mutant mice that squeal real loud. She'll proceed to eat them in front of me. At first, I was in shock. The mouse was still squeaking while she chomped down on it's head and continued on down. What really churned my stomach was the crunching noises of bones breaking as she slowly ate the mammoth mouse. You'd think we were starving her but she obviously has a taste for warm blood. She has an unlimited supply of Meow Mix available at all times, enough to make Baxter jealous.

The most disturbing kills are the birds. We have a lot of birds around the farm. The birds are especially fond of "Redneck Rooster", a chicken scratch blend I throw on the ground for the free range chickens. It contains millet and sunflower seeds, the songbirds love the grains and seeds. When you drive into our town, a sign says, "Now entering a bird sanctuary". Kitty is making this place a mortuary. At least twice a week, she'll drag in a bird. If I catch her, I will take the bird away because most of the time they are still alive. She has become wiser and now, she'll only bring in bird kills during the middle of the night when I am sleeping.

What did I wake up to yesterday morning? A big fucking mess of feathers in my freshly Cloroxed bathroom. The only positive thing I can say about kitty's kills is that she doesn't waste food. It makes me livid when I hear about hunters shooting deer but not using the meat. Kitty doesn't waste a morsel. The only thing remaining is a mountain of feathers and two little tooth pick legs.

Usually, when I see this mess when I first wake up, I decide to clean it up later. I just don't want to start my day cleaning up kitty kill. It will continue to piss me off though every time I walk into the bathroom. Yesterday, I decided to do things differently. Before I had any coffee, with sleep still crusted in the corners of my eyes, I cleaned up the mess. I felt a lot better. "The wise man does at once what the fool does finally." ~ Baltasar Gracian

Happy New Year

2007-01-01T11:27:00.000-05:00

Guess how I rang in the New Year?

Did I throw a huge party?
Nope, I'm the more private type.

Did my husband and I go out for a romantic dinner?
No, I'm still recovering from the flu, food isn't a top priority right now.

Did I drink myself silly at home?
Nah, Nyquil and alcohol don't mix.

Did I watch the ball drop in NY?
I was fast asleep at 12am.

So, what did I do? I delivered a baby goat! One of our young does went into labor last night. She was a first time Mom and gave birth to a healthy baby boy. This boy wanted to be born in 2006 not 2007. Mama went into labor around 7:30pm. I let her push for over an hour but she wasn't making much progress. The baby was in the correct "dive" position but he is BIG. She couldn't clear the shoulders so I had to help. When she'd have a contraction, I'd pull one leg then the other to help his shoulders clear the cervix.

Mama and baby and doing very well, he was trying to walk two minutes after delivery. They are locked in the upper part of the barn because it was wet and rainy last night and more rain today. When it dries up, I'll let them out into the pasture for a real photo shoot. A great, healthy, sober surprise to end the year!

Bigger Than a Bread Box

2006-12-30T08:47:00.000-05:00

When my parents decided to divorce in March of my sophomore year in high school, I was angry and sad. Everything I was taught about love, marriage and the family unit seemed to be a lie. My two older sister were already in college so I felt very alone. I was angry my parents didn't wait until I left for college to divorce. When I found out my father was having an affair, I was angry with men. When my Dad took me to see his new apartment, I let the flood gates open. My anger was unleashed and my Dad couldn't stop my hateful spewing. He ended up getting out of the car until I calmed down.

Nothing prepared me for the emotions I would feel in May when my Mom casually mentioned she was going to bring a friend home after work. I thought it was going to be a girlfriend from her dental office; Connie, Janet or Bea. When a Mustang 5.0, green convertible pulled up in our driveway, I thought one of my friends got a hot car. Some old guy gets out and my Mom prances to the door. She introduces me to her new friend, "This is Bob". I was shocked. It was only two months since my Dad had moved out and my Mom was already on the rebound. My parents were players!

Bob only stayed for a drink that evening. When he walked into the living room, he must of sensed which chair was my Dad's because he didn't sit in his throne. I guess it was pretty obvious. Dad had a huge recliner, right next to the stereo and fireplace. I never once saw Bob sit in Dad's chair. I didn't pay much attention to him that night because I thought he was just a passing fling. I thought my Mom had temporarily lost her mind from the stress of the divorce.

Mom started going out "with friends" more and more on the weekends. Which really didn't bother me because it gave me more free time to get into trouble. Several Friday nights she'd call me and say she was going to spend the night with the office girls. One time I asked her who? Which office friend? She said, "Bea". I said, "Yeah, B as in B-O-B spells Bob!" She 'fessed up and came clean. I guess after that, she felt like it time for me to have a relationship with him.

My sister Val finally came home from college for the summer. At least I had someone who understood what I was going through. When she got home, she was able to see how differently Mom was acting. She'd lost a bunch of weight, she was on the phone all the time and she bought new clothes, even a pair of jeans! Because Mom is short, she decided to roll up her jeans. Like in thick, Huckle Berry Finn, I'm walking through the creek cuffs. I tried to tell her it wasn't cool but she was in her new love lala land.

I felt like she was a hypocrite when she was talking on the phone for hours every night she didn't see Bob. She would get so mad at me for wasting time talking to my friends on the phone. Sometimes, I'd hear her giggling like a school girl. I decided to eavesdrop on her conversations. If I picked up the phone just right, hit speaker and mute at the same time, she never knew I was listening. When Val came home, I showed her my trick. We were sitting in the basement, listening to the love birds chattering. They'd sometimes talk in baby voices. Bob says in a baby Bob voice, "I got you a little present." My Mom asks in her best two year old voice, "Is is bigger than a bread box?" I couldn't contain myself. I look at Val and imitate Mom, "What the fuck? Is it bigger than a bread box? What the hell is a bread box?" My mistake. "Michelle, are you on the phone, listening? Hang up and get up here right now." When I put it on speaker, I had forgot to hit mute too. I got busted.

They decided to take Val and I to play tennis and have lunch one summer Saturday. We were going to play doubles, me and Val vs. Mom and Bob. We were determined to kick lover boy's booty. They made a point and did a happy dance together and kissed. I let it go. The next point they made, the same thing. Over and over again. It was like tennis court make out. Val warned them, "Okay, Mom! Can you guys do that in private? We are trying to play a game here!" The next time they were sucking face on the court Val decided to serve and beamed Bob right in the back. I fell down on the clay and about pissed my pants. Game over.

Val had to return to college and finish her senior year. Once a week, I had to go to dinner with them. Bob always had to drive us around in his pimpin' Mustang convertible. Once, after dinner, we were sitting at a stop light and they are kissing right in front of me. Obviously, Bob was enjoying it a little too much and let his foot slip off the clutch. We rolled forward and bumped the car in front of us. There was no damage done to his beloved Mustang but I was quick to point out he needed to be paying attention to driving, not making out with Mom. He could of killed us for Godsakes!

How I dreaded riding in that car during nice weather. He'd have the top down and I was always stuck in the back. Mom thought she was Marilyn Monroe with a silk scarf wrapped around her head. The first time I sat in the back with the top down, my hair was loose. It took me almost a half hour to get the tangles out of my hair after that ride. I had to braid my hair every time I was made to ride in his hot rod car. I was Pippi Longstockings and they thought they were Bogey and Bacall.

They were happy though, it's probably the happiest I have ever seen Mom in my life. I think the public display of affections bothered me so much because I never once saw my parents hug or kiss. I ended up leaving my Mom and moving to NC with my Dad and his girlfriend the winter of my junior year. I was probably being spiteful, I felt hurt because it seemed that Bob was the most important thing in my Mom's world. Little did I know, I was jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

My life with my Dad and his girlfriend was worse than watching Mom and Bob make out. One hundred times worse because my Dad and his girlfriend fought a lot. The beginning of my senior year, I was diagnosed with lymphoma. I needed my Mom more then ever but I had strained our relationship. Bob drove her down several times during my treatment to be with me. Our relationship started to heal and I came to love and respect Bob too.

My Mom decided to move down to NC when she retired. She and Bob bought a house on a golf course only 40 minutes away from me. Don and I spent time with them playing golf, shopping and going to dinner. Only a year after they moved here to retire, Bob was diagnosed with lung cancer. It seemed so unfair, Bob had worked hard for 68 years and was just beginning to enjoy his retirement with Mom.

Bob's prognosis wasn't good. Cancer had invaded his lungs and bones. He started chemo and lost his thick head of hair. My Mom had always loved his hair. After chemo, they did another CT scan and it wasn't working. The cancer had spread to his brain. He tried radiation but the tumors just kept growing. Finally, his oncologist told him they couldn't do anymore. I think that is the worse news for anyone to hear. You are beyond help.

I think when Bob heard that news, he gave up. He slowly stopped eating. He went from a sandwich and soup to just soup, then to only crackers and eventually he would eat nothing. I saw him wasting away before my eyes. Hospice was called in and everyday a nurse would come to check up on him. Nobody could get him to eat. Looking back, I think Bob refused to let cancer kill him. He wanted to have some sort of control so he starved himself. It wasn't easy to watch a healthy 190 pound man to waste away to 100 pounds to skin and bones. I never would force him to eat, I'd offer him food like apple sauce or popsicles but I wouldn't fight with him. I respected his choice and tried to give him the dignity he deserved.

My Mom kind of turned into a zombie. She was in auto pilot, going through the days but not really living and feeling. I don't remember her crying. The two most difficult days I remember is when they brought the hospital bed in and when we had to put Bob in diapers. The day they brought the hospital bed in Mom and I decided it should be in the sun room. It was a bright and cheery place that we could all sit with him in and keep him company. We got it set up and I bought some new sheets for it that said, "Happy Camper". We went into the bedroom and helped Bob walk into the sun room. It was a hard, slow walk because the cancer was in his bones and every step was painful. When he saw the bed, I saw defeat in his eyes. My heart ached. I still think the bed was the best decision because he wasn't so alone in the bedroom all the time.

When it came to the point that we had to put Bob into diapers, it was heartbreaking just to change them. To move his body would cause him such pain he would cry out in loud moans. There where times I though about overdosing him with morphine. He had liquid morphine we'd drop into his mouth every few hours. My Mom was falling apart watching the man she loved so much die a slow and painful death. I think we treat our pets better. When they are dying, we take them to the vet to be euthanized. I felt so helpless. I knew this was a no win situation.

My oldest sister came one weekend to be with Mom and Bob. We were all in the sun room with him and I noticed his fingertips were dark. I looked at his toes and knees and they were almost blue. I knew his time was near. Bob had stopped talking almost two weeks prior. The last thing he said to me was, "I love you, Sugar." He had always called me Sugar. I told my Mom and sister I didn't think he had much longer. I held his hand and was finally able to cry. I cried and told him how proud I was that he was so strong, he had fought so very hard but it was okay to go now. I told him Mom would be okay, I would take good care of her, he wasn't to worry. When I looked up, I saw tears streaming down his cheeks. Even though he couldn't talk, he could still hear me. And finally, I said, "Sugar loves you and always will." He died about thirty minutes later. We were there holding and loving him as he took his last breath.

Even though my Mom went through a horrible loss, I am thankful she got to experience true love. There will never be another "B" as is B-O-B, Bob.

Finding Balance

2006-12-28T09:38:00.000-05:00

Hello Tri Blogger friends! I hope you had a great holiday season. I haven't been writing because I didn't know where to start, it's not so easy to write about our mistakes or faults. Since I am home, recovering from the flu high on Thera-Flu, I decided it's a good day to spill the beans. The year is coming to a close and many things have changed in the last few months. Life is all about change though. It's how we handle the changes that makes all the difference.

First things first, I doubt I will be competing in triathlon in 2007. I am not using the gym that has the only pool in town anymore. My only other alternative is drive 45 minutes each way to an indoor pool out of town. That would mean I would spend over one and a half hours driving just to swim. I've been thinking a lot about my year training for triathlon. I wouldn't change anything but I have learned a lot. I have learned I tend to go to extremes. Just last year, I was sitting here in front of this computer and signed up for eight races my first season, one of those was a half Ironman. I really didn't think about how that would affect my life and those around me.

I jumped head first into training. I was obsessed, now that I look back, I can see it sometimes consumed me. I would stress out if I missed a bike ride or long run because I needed to spend time with my family. I thought I needed to train everyday. When I first signed up for the races my ultimate goal was just to finish the half. I thought that it would fulfill me, that I would be proving myself. I didn't think that one out either. Who exactly was I proving myself to and what was I proving?

Don't get me wrong, I was very proud that day I finished the half. I trained hard and thought I did well. When I go back and look at those pictures, I always smile. It was a great day that I will never forget. As my season wore on, I didn't enjoy racing as much. I think it was around the time of Bandit's Challenge that I started questioning myself. Honestly, I do not like competing/racing. I can train all year long and be happy as a clam. Once I'm standing at the edge of the lake waiting for the horn to blow, I'm a barrel of nerves. I hate that feeling! I think I'll probably always be this way though so I'll just learn to deal with it.

Maybe I signed up for too much too soon. I burned the candle at both ends. I did complete all eight races I signed up for and met my goals. There was a sacrifice too. I was selfish and put my training before my family, friends, animals and business. I wouldn't change anything though because I learned some valuable lessons.If I hadn't "tri"ed, I would have never known.

I'm sure I will compete in some triathlons in the future, it is a wonderful sport. The people were always kind and encouraging. I really enjoyed having three sports in one race. In 2007, I think I'll focus more on the bike. That way, I can still spend some time with my tri training friends too. Maybe I'll even sign up for a few cycling races. After all, Bolder has always said, "It's all about the bike." I'm still doing a lot of weight training, M-F. I will always be physically active even if I'm not doing triathlon. I actually like how my body looks now more than when I was training for triathlon.

I want to focus more on my soap making business in 2007. I didn't make much product at all during tri season. I need to make some decisions about my product line. I need to narrow down my fragrance line, I can't make 100 different types of soaps and have them all in stock. I'd like to eventually go online but I'm trying to learn to take things slowly. I should sell to some more area boutiques and stores first so I get a better grasp of high production.

I want to start volunteering for Hospice. It's something I have thought about for months. Hospice was there to care for my step dad and father in-law. I think I have an intimate understanding about cancer and dying. The hospice workers were great people to have during a difficult time. Even if I just went grocery shopping or gave someone a foot rub or bathed the family dog, I think it would fulfill me. I've come to realize I feel the best about myself when I give to others. I remember when my step-dad was dying, I'd go to my Mom's house everyday just so she could talk to me or go for a walk. Sometimes, she just needed to get out of that environment. One day, she left while I stayed with my step-dad. When she came home, I asked her where she went. She said she didn't remember, she just drove around in the car for two hours. After my step-dad passed away, she told me it meant so much to have me around during that time. It helped keep her sane.

Finally, I'm going to work on being a better wife. I felt like 2006 was a lot about me and not enough about my husband. He was there for me every race. In the scorching sun and pounding rain, he was there cheering me on and taking pictures. He never complained. He took time off from work to travel with me to races. He was my number one fan. I took it for granted sometimes. Looking back, I couldn't ask for a better supporter, even when he bonked me in the head when I crashed Falcor at Pee-Dee! He was right there to pick me up when I fell. In 2007, I'm going to put more of my energies and time into our relationship. He's already asked that we plan a little weekend trips once a month. If I was training for triathlon, I may have protested because I would be missing a bike ride or swim session. I know better now, I'm trying my best to keep my priorities and balance in life in check. For Christmas, we went away to the mountains and I didn't worry about training one bit. I enjoyed my time alone with my husband.

"I've learned that you can't have everything and do everything at the same time." Oprah Winfrey

Did You Stuff Yourself with Turkey?

2006-11-24T13:34:00.000-05:00

I did! I have been eating so clean the last few weeks, I think I created an anarchy inside my body yesterday. I didn't really eat THAT much, only one plate and a piece of coconut cream pie. I guess my body was like, "What's up with all this carb loading? Are you going to run a marathon tomorrow?" I ate until I couldn't swallow another bite down. Then, I was super uncomfortable. Thank God I wore stretchy elastic waist pants. I wanted to lay on the floor, spread out like a big pile of sweet potato casserole. We were at someone's house so I held myself together and didn't lay in a heap on the carpet. I was glad when we got home because I was burping and tooting from that feast.

I finally got to lay on the floor in front of the TV when we got home. What did I see? One of the best songs that I have ever heard coming from Fiona Apple's lips! Normally, I wouldn't watch anything Elvis Costello but Fiona's cover of his song, "I Want You" is amazing. Don was even watching it with me. He said, "She's so intense sometimes. It reminds me of you. When you start getting too intense, I'll call you Fiona to bring you back to reality." He better just pray that I don't break out in song. I could break glass with my tone deaf intensity.

I WANT YOU, Fiona Apple with Elvis Costello

More Videos

30 + 12 = 42

2006-11-12T06:38:00.000-05:00

Every Saturday, I go on a group bike ride. Even though my season is over, I still do the Saturday group rides. I miss my tri-training friends now, it's been over a month since my last race. I went from spending lots of time with them swimming and biking to now very little. I'm doing a lot of weight training and some of my friends are taking some time off. Yesterday was a beautiful day in NC, it was sunny and the high was in the 80's. A great day for a bike ride.

One of my close tri-friends was riding with me, Meg. There were two new riders and one guy that hadn't been riding much because he was building a house and the "The Biking Fool". I will refer to him as TBF from now on. TBF is a great guy, he wouldn't hurt a fly. TBF is a widowed, older guy in his mid-50's. He doesn't bat on eye at the thought of biking 70 miles a day. I think he averages 1,000 miles per month. He rides his bike everywhere. He is a strong and steady cyclist. If there is anyone in the group that I prefer to draft off of, it's TBF. He is so steady and consistant that you never worry about eating his tire because he braked too quickly. He always points out every rock, roadkill and pothole in the road too.

When TBF said, "It's so nice today, we should ride 50 miles." I wasn't shocked, that was his normal daily ride. I'd been up since 5am and I had been in a cleaning frenzy. For some reason, when I'm PMSing I get this way. If something about my life is bothering me, I must go beyond the call of duty to make it right. This month, it was the cleaniness of the house. I scrubbed the house and my soap shed. I do mean scrub and frenzy, my clothes were wet with sweat from doing all the floors with bleach with a brush. Right as I left for the group ride at 1pm, I drank a protein shake.

Since I am trying to put on muscle, I have cut back on my cardio. It's hard to build muscle while doing a lot of endurance cardio. I still do cardio but it's high intensity for 40 minutes. I wasn't really feeling a fifty mile ride after my house cleaning craze. I talked with Meg and we decide 30 miles would be better. Meg wanted to come by the farm after the ride to pick out some soap for Christmas. She also had a date with her husband. This is our "off" season and 50 miles was more like training for the half anyway.

Meg told TBF we only wanted to do 30 miles. If they wanted to do more, then TBF should just tell us at the half way point to just turn around. TBF said that was fine. I only brought a bottle of water with me because that was all I needed for 30 miles.

We take off and it really was a lovely day. I feel stronger on the bike now, I am averaging 1-2 miles faster climbing hills. I can't figure out if it's because my legs are stronger from weight training or I'm just rested. When we got on the quiet, country roads, it was TBF and I leading the pack. It's not good when I'm out front, I turn into a race horse and really hoof it. I think TBF and I were going 20-22mph and when I looked back, we had dropped some people. I decided to chill out because we did have a thirty mile ride and this wasn't a race.

I fall back and the guy that had been building a house jokling said I was going fast and it was killing him. This was mile eight. We had a strong head wind almost the entire ride. TBF and this new guy from Austria were up ahead of Meg and I. The new house guy had fallen behind us. At mile 13, I told Meg we were almost at half way point. We decided to keep going since we clearly told TBF we only wanted to do 30 miles, we expected him to tell us when to head back and which roads to take.

We should have known better. TBF has a history about lying about distance. It makes Meg livid! One time, during the summer, Meg toldTBF she needed to be back at a certain time because she had plans with her husband and friends to meet at the lake. She was hot when she realized he took a longer detour and she'd be over an hour late. He's miscalculated distance a lot. I'm a pretty laid back person. It takes a lot to work me up. I never got really upset with TBF during the summer because Saturday rides were always long during training season. I always brought food with me because most rides were 40+ miles.

Yesterday, I didn't bring anything but water, one bottle. When we hit a small town at mile 22, I knew this would be no 30 mile ride. I said we needed to stop at the gas station because I was out of water. Meg asked TBF how many more miles? TBF rambles off the route and Meg's eyes turn to slits like an angry kitty. "We are going past the school? The school is 20 miles back to our cars!" TBF tried to calm Meg down by telling her it's only 10 miles. She was pissed.

I am just watching and listening to everything when the new lady whips out a bag of almonds and raisins. I suddenly felt like a wild animal, I wanted to attack her and steal her almonds. The last time we did a long ride, I brought beef jerky and almonds too. Meg was hysterical when she saw me gnawing on a piece of jerky like a rabid dog. Yesterday, I was ravenous. I had another 20 miles to go. I had no food, no money. Lifting has done something to my body, I have to eat almost every two hours. Since I planned on 30 miles, I thought I would be eating in less than two hours. I almost started drooling watching her pop almonds into her mouth. I refilled my water bottle at the gas station and we started pedaling again.

Meg kept swearing it would take us at least 20 miles to get back. I kept thinking about almonds and then I bit my tongue because I was chomping on my gum so hard. I got mad and spit my gum out when I tasted blood. At mile 28, I realize we were going to be doing at least 40 miles. New house guy was really falling back and struggling. I slowed down and told him it didn't look like 30 miles, more like 40. He looked upset, he said he was tired and not ready for such a long ride. At mile 33, my legs were getting tired climbing the hills. My stomach felt like it was cannabilizing itself. I kept hearing my weight training friends in my head telling me, "Endurance cardio without proper fuel will eat your muscle up." I was imagining a Pac-Man like character biting into my biceps.

TBF and Austria guy waited for us at a stop sign. Meg laid into him about it being over 30 miles but she actually controlled herself. I thought her wrath would be worse. She just decided she's never trusting TBF again. The new house guy finally made it to the stop sign at top of the hill. He was so beat, he decided to ride his bike home because it was closer than his car. He'd have someone take him to get his car later. I felt bad for him.

The last three miles are tough because there are some hills to climb. At this point, I don't feel like talking too much because I'm so hungry. When new girl with the almonds got in front of me, I almost felt like crashing her to see if any almonds would come spilling out, like when you hit jackpot on a slot machine. I'd pick them up off the pavement and savor each crunchy almond. I decided to pass her and pull her up the hill instead.

Meg and I splurged after the ride and got a frozen coffee drink. We can't really figure out why TBF always fibs about mileage. We ended up doing 42 miles. Is it an honest mistake? Does he not listen when we say only 30 miles? Or is it selfish reasons, wanting people to ride longer because he wants company? I did learn I will always bring something to eat "just in case". I don't want to start a WWF smack-down brawl over almonds.

Not as Strong as I Thought

2006-11-02T12:35:00.000-05:00

On Tuesday, I decided my last quad exercise would be jump squats. My entire self was pretty whipped at this point. Tuesday is quad and calf day. I had been been training these muscles for almost an hour. I grabbed the olympic bar and started with 20 pounds for my first set. Squat and jump in the air, squat and jump up high! When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I look like the Samsonite gorilla.

Could feel some burning but decided I needed more. So, I added another 15 pounds. I should have thought about this again when I struggled to get the bar and weights up over my head to rest on my shoulders. I pounded out another 15 jump squats. My quads were on fire and I was gasping for breath.

I was really tired now and when I tried to lift the bar back over my head and I couldn't. I was stuck, I couldn't clear my big ole' dome piece. I sat down on the bench and thought if I rested for a moment, I'd have enough power left to get the bar off my shoulders.

Some nice guy was watching me and came to my rescue and removed the bar.
He said, "You are a little thing to be lifting so much weight and doing such a hard exercise."

I obviously felt stronger than actually was and I was pretty embarrassed I needed help. I learned a lesson. I will wait until the squat rack is free before I increase weight for squat jumps or you may see me running around with a loaded barbell on my back.

Boo! Happy Halloween!

2006-10-28T07:29:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time! Hopefully, I'll be a better blogger since it's getting cold. Time is going by quickly. I was admiring all the pretty colors outside then shocked when I realize it's autumn. Only two months left in the year! Then, I thought about Halloween.

When I was young, Halloween was my second favorite holiday. Dressing up, running around the neighborhood at night and getting free candy. Who could want more as a kid? The only time I was bummed out during Halloween was when I'd have to wear a coat over my costume. Nobody could see my teenage mutant ninja turtle shell! People that gave out raisins were way too uptight. People that gave out full sized candy bars were my idols. I promised to be cool and generous like they were when I grew up.

We don't get any trick or treaters at the farm. Kinda hard when you live a half a mile from the main road. I wish we did, I'd love to see the costumes. Maybe it's best they don't come here, I just thought about Monty and Missy. They'd go ape shit if Barney, Scooby-Do, a witch or Dracula came knocking on the door yelling "Trick or Treat". Heck, they may go sailing through the glass door if a kid sized Snoopy was on our front porch. I'd need to tranquilize them, they'd probably have an anxiety attack.

I always had a Halloween night ritual. I'd dump out my pillow case full of candy on the floor separate them into different piles. I think the worst candy every invented was Good n' Plenty. I loathe black licorice. I probably could start dry heaving if I think about it long enough. The Good n' Plenty inventors were tricky! They coated the glorified black tar with a white or pink sugar coating. I mistakenly ate some one Halloween and it almost ruined my palate for the remainder of the evening. My sisters wouldn't even trade me Smarties for Good n' Plenty's. My Dad and the dog always got those spawn of satan candies. My favorite candy was Snickers and I still adore them today. I liked the Double Bubble gum too. I'd get a case of lock jaw from that pink gum though. After popping a fresh piece in my mouth, it would become rock hard in two minutes. It was almost like chewing a rubber eraser. I'm no longer a fan of Double Bubble, my gum addiction is now Extra spearmint, the bright green gum.
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Today, I'll be going on my first bike ride since Pinehurst. I haven't missed it that much, I've enjoyed the break. I have been lifting weights almost every day. I've hit some personal records lifting. I leg pressed 270 X 4 on Tuesday. Watch out Flatman! My biceps are getting even bigger! :)

First Thing I Learned This Season

2006-10-10T14:19:00.000-05:00

Here's the big reason I don't like racing; pre-race jitters. About two days before a race, I feel anxious. The night before a race, I cannot sleep. I will wake about ever hour to check the time. The morning of the race, I have a difficult time swallowing down food even though I need it. On the ride to the race, I don't feel like talking. Ten minutes before the race I can't decide if I need to poop or throw-up.

Everything I feel pre-race is opposite of who I am and what I normally feel. I usually sleep like a rock, I like to eat, I love to talk to Don and my poop schedule is pretty normal and I rarely throw up. Why do I change so much? I don't enjoy feeling so nervous! I don't even know what I'm so upset about.....

Maybe I'm scared of not know what will happen? Like at Kure Beach, I doubted I could even finish the swim. I stood on the beach watched the giant waves bring the buoys back. I was scared of those waves. What would they feel like crashing on my body?

My emotional relief finally comes when I jump into the water to swim. Whether it was in a calm pool or the violent ocean, I instinctively know what to do. Kick, pull, breathe. Everything becomes very simple and easy. My mind is free of chatter and I'm back to myself.

I learned this season that I am not a "seasoned competitor." I need a Prozac patch pre-race. Freas was one of the most fun people to race with this season. She would help me chill more and laugh pre-race. She is a natural athlete. She enjoys the competition but can still be fun. I'll never forget her waking me up on a few race mornings,

"Rise and shine! Wake-y, Wake-Y! Good Morning, sunshine!"

It was 5am and she didn't even have any coffee. That's Freas though, a real positive person. She deserves the be ranked #1 Athena in the NC series standings for 2006. Go Freas-y!

I need to learn how to not take triathlon so seriuosly. I work myself up about races and it takes the fun out of it.

Pinehurst Split Times

2006-10-08T17:47:00.000-05:00

1.5k Swim- 31:06

25k bike- 1:23:47

10k run-55:48

17/26 AG 73/166 OA

I'm still thinking about what I want to write. I have a lot to say now that the pressure is off. :)
Figures.

Pinehurst Race Report

2006-10-07T14:32:00.000-05:00

Yay! I did it! Finished all eight races I signed up for this season!

I forgot to tell you that when I went to packet pick up last night, I didn't know I had lost my license. They wouldn't give me a packet without photo ID. I had to bring my passport this morning when I got my packet. I enjoyed my pre-night routine of putting stickers on my bike and helmet too!

It was a cold, damp morning. It felt like Bandit's Challenge but colder. I didn't want to take off my pants and sweatshirt to put on the wetsuit. It was close to my age group swim start because the packet pick up this morning rushed me. My sister and I donned the wetsuits and headed to the water.

There are a few things I miss about racing novice. When racing novice, the swim start is not very crowded. This morning, I think there were probably 50 or more ladies at my swim start. I had to fight for swim room. Once I made the first turn, it thinned out. I started getting concerned when I saw all different colored caps around me. Were all these people passing me? When I started my swim as a novice, I always knew if I saw a different colored cap, I was doing the passing because I always started last.

I think I had a good swim. Not sure about time yet. Another interesting thing about racing age group is I feel like I'm racing with men. My entire bike ride, I saw mostly guys. Guys passing me with really nice bikes and rims that are probably worth more than my mini-van. I rode Clifford for the last race. He's been my good boy the entire year. Never crashing me or blowing a tire. He deserved to finish the last ride of the season.

When I got out of the water, the cold air hit me. I only own a short sleeved bike jersey, no winter gear. I knew I'd be blue if I wore only short sleeves while riding Clifford 18mph. I had to wear my Bazooka Bubble Gum sweatshirt too. It was drizzling the entire ride and it was heavy and soaked when I was finished with the bike leg.

The course was pretty hilly. My nose was snotting like a faucet. I'd have to move my hood out of the way when I need to blow snot rockets. Or you could call me Bazooka Snot Rocket! At mile 15, I tried to wave at volunteers but my hands were so cold, they were stuck in handle bar hand position. Clifford got the job done, once again. He may not be the most costly but he's very reliable.

When I started the run, I couldn't feel my feet for over a mile. They were wet and cold. It was an interesting feeling. The top of my thighs also went numb on the bike, my bike number kept scratching my leg but I couldn't feel it! I chatted with lots of folks during the run. I don't think my run was fast but it was my favorite portion of this race. It was challenging and hilly. I ran with one guy for a few miles. He kept a pace similar to mine. At mile three, he started walking because he only did sprints. I encouraged him to keep running with me, he was my pacer! He told me to go on, that he'd catch up but I never saw him again.

I was played for a fool again. The last .2 miles of a race, I saw a girl in front of me with a 2-something on her leg. Was she in my age group? She passed me going down hill, I passed her going up and asked her age. 21. I joked around about I was happy she wasn't in my age group. She slowed down, I encouraged her "come on, we are almost there"! She told me she couldn't keep up, she was sick to her stomach.

The last 50 yards to the finish line "sick to my stomach shithead" sprinted to the line and passed me. I was like WTF? I started sprinting too but the chutes are narrow and her butt was running down the middle. It got the crowd all fired up though. The were hooting at screaming at our sprint finish. I won't fall of that one again! Every man for himself I guess?

I did better than expected. I met my goal. I wanted to finish the course in under three hours. My finish time was 2:55.

I'm proudest of my sister though. Even though she has been injured for a month, she did finish this race. She hasn't run for over a month due to knee problems. When she crossed the finish line, you could tell she was hurting. Downhill is most painful so she had to walk portions of this course due to the hills. She didn't whine, moan or complain about her time once. She also didn't cry baby about her knee but she admitted both knees now hurt after the race.

There is nothing like having people that love you at the finish line. This feeling is what I will miss most during the next few months off. Having the experience to talk about and reflect on with people dear to me.

My Mom, husband, sister and I were all cold and tired after the race. We decided to get some Chinese food. I just wanted some hot tea and soup. My fortune cookie said this: "Just begin.... The rest is easy"

I'm thankful I began this journey 11 months ago. And this morning, like all race mornings, I decided to "just begin" by running into the water. The rest was easy! I don't think when I race, my mind and body go into auto-pilot. The hardest part for me is the car ride to race site in the morning.

Thanks for you insight, encouragement, honesty and support everyone!

I'll update when the splits are posted.

Pinehurst Morning

2006-10-07T04:56:00.000-05:00

Uuugggggghhh. It's 5:45am and I'll be leaving for my last triathlon of this year shortly. It's cold outside to this Carolina girl. The thought of getting into the lake right now doesn't sound exciting. I don't even want to compete. I know, that sounds bad. I need to write it down because I want to remember this time next year when I'm signing up for races. I want to remember how burnt out I felt this morning and how I begged my husband to get back into our warm bed. I can't quit though, I signed up for eight and I'll finish eight race this season.

I'll be doing this race with my sister and my good friend, Meg. My sister has IT band issues so she may not run much. I just keep thinking to myself, "only three and half hours of racing then done for the year". Maybe I'll feel different after the race is completed. I hope I haven't burnt myself out on triathlon for the rest of my life.

Soap Tutorial

2006-10-05T08:39:00.000-05:00

Julia asked me to post about soap making and I couldn't resist. Julia lives in Italy, the home of the finest olive oil on the planet.I use lots of olive oil in soap making, I'm sure Julia could make some drool worthy castile soap!

First things first. You need to purchase a good scale. No, not some el cheapo kitchen scale from Wal Mart. The more accurate and expensive, the better. I would purchase a scale that measures to the hundredth of an ounce. If you can't weight the oils or lye properly, you will have major soap problems. Soap making is a chemical type of science.

Once, my oldest sister was visiting from out of state and she was dying to make soap. I melted all the oils and when it was time to add the lye to the goat's milk, we realized I didn't have enough lye. I was short only about one ounce per each batch. I went ahead and mixed everything up minus the ounce or so of lye.

All three of the batches were ruined when I checked them the next day. The soap was separated and a layer of oil was floating on top. The oils and lye failed to saponify. Ruining three batches of soap cost a pretty penny too. Just a warning, we can get by with a great dinner if we are short 1/2 cup of onion but missing one ounce of lye is a soap making disaster!

We'll start with a very basic recipe.

Olive Oil 40 ounces
Coconut Oil 20 ounces
Palm Oil 20 ounces

Lye needed: 11.26 ounces
Water or Milk: 27.08 ounces

Get out a stainless steel pot and measure out hard oils at room temperature. In this recipe, it would be the coconut oil. Melt it carefully on the stove top.

In this recipe, pictured above, I'm using some luxury hard oils like cocoa butter and mowrah butter. I wouldn't recommend using expensive ingredients your first soap making adventure. Most luxury oils and butter are shipped in adding to cost. A failed batch would equal mucho money lost.

While the hard oils are melting, line your soap mold with plastic wrap.

Remove the melted hard oils from the stove top. It heats up fast!

Now, add your liquid oil to the melted hard oil. This would be the olive and palm oil in the above recipe. This will help cool off the hot melted oil too. I like my oils to be around 90 to 100 degrees when I add the lye mixture.

Put on some gloves and eye protection and weigh out the lye. I could go on and on about the dangers of lye. Please be extremely careful when using lye. I make soap in a building outside of my house. My pets are not allowed in the soap shack! I have read horror stories about small children pulling lye water off the kitchen counter and getting severe chemical burns. It really is dangerous, I have been burned and it's not fun.

I would measure and mix the lye in a pyrex, glass measuring cup.

Goat's milk soap is tricky. I started off using spring water. The problem with goat's milk is when you add the lye. If the milk gets too hot, you'll have a noxious orange burnt mixture. I have found freezing the milk and adding the lye prevents the burnt milk problem. Slowly pour a little lye over the frozen milk and stir, stir, stir with a stainless steel spoon.

Add a bit more lye and stir. The process of melting the milk with lye takes about 15 minutes. This technique is forcing the lye to stay cool and preventing damage to the milk. The milk temperature is about 110 degrees when all the lye is added. If you choose not to use milk, just use cold spring water. (It doesn't have to be ice)

I am ready to blend my milk/lye when it comes down to 110 degrees and oil 100 degrees together. I like to use a stick blender because it forces the lye/milk and oils to join together and saponify into a smooth soap. Be aware that the stick blender will speed up the trace. You want to pour the liquid soap into the mold when thickens up and coats the spoon or blender.

To be continued.....

Scrub a Dub Dub

2006-10-01T07:05:00.000-05:00

Here's some pictures from the last two weeks of the soap fest. My soap rack is almost full, I have two racks left on the bottom. The soap needs to cure for about four weeks before I package it. Top Row-Lancelot, 2nd Row- Goat's milk Oats and Honey, 3rd row-Lychee Fruit and Moonbeam Musk, 4th row-Lavish Lover, 5th row-Sexy Thang and Lovely 6th row- Ice Cap.

Every soap created is a surprise when it's time to unmold it. Once I pour the soap into the mold, it will sit under blanket for a day. My favorite part is unwrapping and cutting the fresh soap. In a perfect world, all batches of soap would unmold hard, smooth and pleasing to the eye. It doesn't always work that way. Sometimes, during the saponifaction process, the fragrance will morph or burn off, the dyes will change color or completely disappear. This is one of my favorites I made last week. Goat's milk, honey and oats. The milk and honey swirl came out good and the fragrance stuck.

The most interesting bar of the week, Moonbeam Musk. The dark blue color didn't appear until after I unmolded the soap. I think the color, although a surprise, fits the name.

My least favorite part of soapmaking? The cleaning up! I've gotten better about it during the last few weeks. If I just leave the mess after making a batch, I don't want to go back into the soap shack. Soap will be glued to the pots, stick blenders, spatulas and bowls. I've started cleaning up after every batch. Now, when I walk in the SS, everything is shining and ready to soap.

Ebb and Flow

2006-09-28T15:41:00.000-05:00

Anything I chose to do, whether it be train for triathlon, making soap or preparing a meal; I put one hundred percent of myself into the job. This can be good and bad. Good because I've experienced perfection with my "balls to the walls" effort. Bad because I'll "burn the candle at both ends", taking on too much and finally burn out.

I'm about burnt out with triathlon training. I guess that's why I haven't posted for awhile. I don't have much positive to say about training right now. I'm just getting through it. I'm been even more grouchy during the last week because I had to cut out weight training to prepare for Pinehurst Olympic triathlon on October 7th.

I'm feeling like a big blob of Jello. All cardio, no weights. My diet had to change too, I have to eat a lot of carbs to keep my cardio fueled. I was bonking hard with little carbs and mostly protein. All the lean muscle mass I put on the last three weeks will be gone by the 7th. I will have completed eight triathlon races my first season!

Looking back over the last year, it's hard to believe I've only been seriously training for nine months. At midnight on Jan. 1, 2006, I signed up for all eight races on-line, I think Woodlake was the only mail-in. I don't know why I chose eight but like I said, when I commit in my mind, I go all out. In hindsight, I think it may have been too many. All these new experiences: sprint, double sprint, Olympic, half-ironman, pool swim, lake swim, ocean swim, racing Falcor in the rain or on sand and gravel roads, flat pavement running, trail running, beach running and Bandit's Challenge DAM running. I have been blessed to be strong and healthy enough to have all these new experiences in less than one year.

It's been a lot of learning. I've met some great people and some real fucktards. I've won and I've lost.I laughed and I cried. Some days, I feel like I can run like a wild gazelle through the woods
but when I'm forced to use a treadmill, I feel like a baby elephant. I learned to expect and be prepared for the unexpected race day. Last week, I ran in the rain just because.

I literally threw myself into triathlon in January. It was new, exciting and addicting. And now, like many things in my life, I'm tired of triathlon. I think I'm tired of feeling pressure to perform well. I just want to train because I like it! I'm tired of worrying about the next race on a monthly basis. I'm really hating the bike right now. I'm enjoying running because the weather is so beautiful outside. It feels lovely to have the windows open!

I hate the bike right now but March-May of this year it was my favorite, I used to hate running. I got sick of making soap last January and devoted most of my time to cooking and training. I have spent more time in the soap shack the last two weeks than I have the entire year. I have been a soap making fool. I'll post some pictures tomorrow. I have really missed it but didn't realize it until I had to make some soap for the holidays for my family. I've set a goal to make 72 pounds of soap per week until December.

There are three things I really love and enjoy in life. Exercise, soap making and cooking. I just have to find balance. Too much cooking and I don't run as fast. Too much exercise=no soap making=no money.

My Missy Girl

2006-09-12T17:09:00.000-05:00

I have already written about Mama's Boy Monty. I haven't told you about the true guard dog of the farm, Missy.

Missy came into our lives when I contacted a local Doberman rescue. She was much like many of the abused or abandoned dogs. Starved and scared.

She didn't have much faith left in humans. She didn't want you in her face, on her level. Because she didn't trust you. She didn't really care if you pet her or not because she probably didn't understand that type of love. She was just used as a puppy factory machine. When she didn't have a healthy litter, the backyard breeders quit feeding her. We found out months later because Missy was having legs problems after hikes that she had been shot with a shotgun. She has over 80 buckshot embedded in her rear. She keeps on protecting this farm though.

It has been baby steps with Missy. It has sometimes been a struggle. Missy taught me it takes a long time to earn trust and you cannot compare individuals. Everyone has their own story, everyone has their own flaws and everyone has gifts too. She taught me acceptance.

Missy loved her crate when we brought her home. When I'd vacuum or we'd have a thunderstorm, she run and hide in her crate. Her crate was her den, her safe zone. Monty viewed his crate as a prison. When he graduated out of his crate, he never slept in it again. He figured out the bed was much more comfortable. It took months for Missy to even jump on our bed, with tons of coaching from me. Still, today, it's rare Missy will even come into our bedroom unless she's scared or trying to tell me something while I'm sleeping. She only jumps into bed with us when there's a thunderstorm scaring her and once when I was crying really hard.

Monty was the showboat, superstar at obedience classes. It wasn't Missy's cup of tea. She wasn't really excited to be there but she enjoyed the boiled beef heart treats I'd made for her. It always seemed she was nervous and watching her back around other dogs. It was hard for her to sit straight from the buckshot in her ass. Missy could heel perfectly though. She pranced around the ring, "I'm special, I'm shining because she loves me enough to boil beef heart and stink up the house. Your owner is feeding you Beggin Strips???"
I'd come home with raw knuckles because Missy could sometimes get over-excited about beef heart. It was a great bonding experience for her and I. We completed basic and intermediate obedience classes. Missy told everyone that tried to trick her to go through the tunnels,"fuck you". She never ran one tunnel. Too dark, too confined, too scary.

Missy hates squirrels. About four years ago, I was hiking with Monty and Missy and she took off after a squirrel. She'd usually tree it and come running back. I guess she got carried away and followed it too far into the woods. After about 10 minutes, I started getting concerned she hadn't caught up. Monty and I stopped, I called for her. "Missy, Come on girl!" I then blew the "You better come RIGHT NOW!" whistle. No Missy. I kept telling Monty to go find her but like I said, he sticks to me like glue.

I started back tracking, I called and called. For over an hour. I started getting really scared. I decided to walk back to the ranger's house and ask him to take me out on his four wheeler to call for her. I knew him pretty well because I used to hike almost every day with the dogs.

When I was clearing out of the woods to get help, I heard her dog tags clanging. She was panting harder than I have ever seen and she collapsed at my feet. I thought she died of a heart attack right in front of me. Dobermans are known to have cardiomyopathy. She kept on huffing though.

Then, I saw her feet. The pads were torn off and they were bleeding. Some had 1/4 inch of skin hanging from them. I somehow carried her out to the trail entrance and she didn't protest about me invading her person space. No grunts, no struggling when I wrapped my arms around her and held her, I'd have to carry her and then stop for a bit. I screamed for help when I got to the parking lot and ranger got my keys. He drove my car over and helped me load her up. The vet cut off the skin and we had to wrap her feet for a few days. She was more upset she couldn't go for walks with Monty and I during recovery.

Missy is a natural born mother. Any baby animal that I bring inside, she will protect. The kitties and Monty better back away from baby goats or they will get their head's ripped off. Missy adores goat kids. She will cry if I don't let her in their pen. Last year, one doe had triplets in the middle of the night. I didn't find them until the next morning, they were premies and had hypothermia. They were all females too. I brought them all inside and rushed two to the vet. When I came home, Missy was snuggling with the baby in the photo above. The baby wanted to nurse. Missy did not leave her side.

She's learned how to love and trust. She's forgiven but doesn't forget. When it's deer season, she'll come flying through the doggy door shaking with fear at the sound of a shotgun. But she's the first one out the doggie door when she hears the chickens screaming for help because the fox is back. There have been nights that I hear Missy go barking out the doggy door over twenty times. We must have a lit sign over our farm flashing, "Chicken, duck, goose, peacock, BUFFET!" Missy protects. If Monty is feeling especially valiant, he'll stand up in bed and bark.

Monty knows who's boss in this house too. If Monty tries to take take her bone or chewy, she just has too look at him sideways and raise her upper lip.
I think she says, "Monty, bitches rule, dogs drool!"

I Have Learned Another Lesson

2006-09-07T09:48:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry I have been so absent. I am not here today to tell a funny story. My heart is heavy. Someone that was very close in my life that I loved and thought of as a friend has betrayed me and hurt me deeply. I am shocked and confused.

Hateful and ugly words spewd from her mouth while she belittled me in front of an audience. I sat and listened. If I am proud of one thing, it is my self control. I did not stoop to that level, I did not reveal her inadequacies in front of others. When belittling me didn't break me down, she revealed a sacred secret. Hell, she even used a post in this blog against me.

The lesson I have learned is to not share so much of myself. I will not be so vulnerable and allow myself to get hurt this way again. I am ashamed and embarrassed I was played for such a fool.

To my once so called best friend, who loved me so much, I have a few parting quotes for you.

"Blowing out another's candle will not make yours shine brighter."

"It is human nature to hate him whom you have injured."

"The best revenge is a vow to never be like the one who hurt you."

"You may kill me with you hatefulness.
But still, like air, I rise."

Sorry for such a downer of a post. I will return soon with happy stories. I am thankful for triathlon training. Working out has helped me feel better during this difficult time. Don has even been coming to the gym and lifting weights with me to be encouraging. It's sometimes hard to choke down chicken breasts and protein shakes though. Tomorrow will be easier because I know that time will help heal my wound.

Happy, fun stories next time. I promise!

Pain In My Ass

2006-08-30T18:00:00.000-05:00

Yesterday afternoon, Don left to take the garbage to the dump. He was gone for almost two hours. When he returned, he wheeled a road bike into the house. A Fuji Robiax Pro? I was stunned. Quite shocked. I was excited though because I would have a new riding friend. I really don't like riding my bike alone out in the country. Mostly because of all the dogs. I was also proud of him for buying and item that will help keep him healthy.

When we talked about the ride today, he had grandiose plans. We'd go by the bike shop, then ride to his Mom's house and come back home. I'll was all up for it. I even brought some money so we could stop by Subway for lunch. I filled up our water bottles and we headed out the door.

He didn't buy shoes or clips yet, he's using the "basket" pedals. He got shorts and a helmet though. I wasn't going fast today. I'm weight training pretty heavy right now. Yesterday was leg day. I leg pressed 175x12, 185x10, 190x8 and 200x6. A new personal record. I increased all my weights in lifting legs yesterday so I was gimping around this morning. We only averaged 13mph. It was my "active recovery".

I have to say this.. Men are the biggest cry babies ever! After mile number three, all I heard was complaining about ass pain. We had to stop once so he could get his butt off the seat. I just had to keep encouraging him to turn the cranks. Keep on spinning, keep on spinning.

We didn't make it to Subway, the bike shop or his Mom's house. He said if we went to Subway, then I would ride home and come pick him up in the van. I didn't want to ride alone because of the dog situation. He wasn't helpful in that department during the ride.

I was excited about having a new riding pal because I loathe all the stray dogs that chase me in the country. When the little Jack Russell Terror dog comes running out on our road, what does my husband do? He growls at it which makes it more aggressive and the little bitch starts chasing my wheels. My husband just watches, chuckling while I scream at the evil little dog.

I felt vindicated though. I had my moment when he said, "I have so much more respect for you now. I could never ride 56 miles and then run 13."

We did a total of 15 miles.

And then he came to the pool with me tonight and told me my swim stroke was "beautiful".

He wanted me to ask about his butt pain. I vaguely remember crotch pain in the beginning. I think women are better at blocking out pain though. My advice was just spending more time in the saddle. Any advice from the male point of view?

I may have a triathlete in the making!

The Sloppy Sad Drunk

2006-08-29T14:18:00.000-05:00

I still remember the first time I drank alcohol. I was still in high school but my sister (Val) let me tag along with her college friends for a beach vacation. I was feeling just swell after two Milwaukee's Best in the hotel room. I figured if I drank more I would start feeling not just swell but super-duper. After four beers, I kept reminding my sisters' friend to make sure I'd changed my tampon before I went to bed because I didn't want to die of toxic shock syndrome. I don't remember much after that but I continued to drink.

I guess after six beers, I decided I would go running into the ocean and drown myself. I didn't make it that far, I fell down some stairs and sprained my ankle. I was crying my head off before I even fell down. My sister who also was drinking too much, was blubblering and trying to drown herself in the swimming pool. Everyone had to babysit us. They decided that night they weren't letting "the sad drunk sisters" drink anymore on that vacation.

I thought it was very bizarre that both my sister and I turned into these depressed, suicidal people when drunk. When I asked her about it, she said my oldest sister did the same thing. That's why she never would drink. (I just thought she was too uptight) I was hoping that my emotional outburst was just a fluke, a first-timer's flaw. I was wrong.

When school started, my Mom was away with her new boyfriend most weekends. I decided to have a party. I invited about eight friends over to stay the night and drink. I got into my parents liquor cabinet and starting drinking Southern Comfort. The first sip burned and tasted like crap but after sip #10, I could drink rubbing alcohol without a problem.

Around sip #20, I thought that painting the boys' fingernails with hot pink polish would be fun. They didn't want any part of it. I chased them with my polish brush. I wasn't very good with hand-eye coordination at this point of drunkenness so most of the polish ended up on the staircase walls.

After sip #35 my suicidal Sybil self emerged again. My best friend Zoe had to take away my Southern Comfort and sit with me on my bed. She said she wished she had a straight jacket because I was acting so sad. I eventually passed out. When I woke up the next morning, not only was my head pounding but my stomach felt like it was full of battery acid.

I swore I'd never drink Southern Comfort again, I haven't either. Then, I walked upstairs and saw streaks of pink nail polish all over the white walls. I thought nail polish remover would do the trick. I was very wrong, it just smeared the pink streak into a pink blob. My Dad was picking me up for dinner that night so I had to think of a story, pronto.

My Dad noticed the pink wall as soon as he arrived. I told him I was on the phone, painting my nails, walking down the stairs. I tripped on Sam's bone and polish splattered on the walls. When in doubt, blame the dog. My Dad taught me that trick. When he'd fart, he'd always blame it on poor Sam.

My drunk Sybil personality departed after Don and I were together after about three months. The first time I got drunk with Don, I went crazy and tried to drown myself in the bathtub. He didn't want me to drink for a long time, it scared the shit out of him. Who wants to be in a relationship with a secret nut-job? It really would upset people when they'd see that psycho side of me. I've always wondered about this though. Why would all these depressing emotions come out when my sisters and I drink?

I'm a creative, happy drunk now. Thank God because I love my gin, lime and club soda. Val still will get very sad if she drinks too much. It happened last year at the beach and her husband won't let her drink to get feeling good anymore. He 86'ed her for life. I've never seen my oldest sister drunk, she's smart. She's also the superstar of the family. Look who I found on CNN last night? My oldest sister!

Stallion Update

2006-08-24T16:34:00.000-05:00

Upload music at Bolt

Oh God, I can't believe I will admit to some of the things I have done. After I read the comments, I remembered a minor detail about make out sessions with Joey. I would play "Do It to Me One More Time" by Lionel over and over again while we were making out. I had the CD single and put it on repeat. The fucking song is over six minutes long! Twice played equals almost 15 minutes of making out, it was my porch timer. But enjoying Lionel Ritchie at 16? Christ, what's wrong with me? It's part Kenny G., part middle aged housewife "let's get it on" song.

And what happened to Joey T. and I? We grew apart during the summer. I just stopped calling him gradually over the summer, he'd graduated, I had two years left. My sister came home from college and I chilled out with her and her friends more. I started to resent Joey because he'd always want me to do more. He'd had sex before so going home for months with a wet spot on your jeans from dry humping probably got old. Or maybe he got sick of Lionel?

The Italian Stallion

2006-08-23T12:46:00.000-05:00

When I was a sophomore in highschool, I started dating a senior that my mom called "the Italian stallion." His name was Joey, not Buttafuco but his last name was very Italian too. Let's pretend it was Tetrazzini, Joey Tetrazzini.

My Dad hated Joey, he wouldn't speak to him. Part of the reason was he looked like a grown man. He was dark, earthy and hairy. He had a full chest rug at 18 and a 5 o'clock shadow. My Dad said he would try to put fast moves on me. I was only allowed to see him in my house when my parents were home. I could never ride with him in his hot car. He had an early 80's Camero with big, slick rear tires. I could hear him coming from a half mile away. My Dad hated his car as much as Joey. I was forbidden to ever ride in his car.

My parents also had another rule. Since they both worked full time, I was not allowed to have anyone in the house after school until they arrived home. I was allowed to sit on the front porch with my friends while I was home alone but they couldn't come in. Joey and I sat on the porch together for the first few weeks but it got boring. I knew my parents schedule and could expect them to arrive home at 5:10pm. After a month of porch sitting it started getting cold, I decided to break the rules.

Everything was great the first few weeks. Joey would drive me home in his muscle car, we'd get a snack and make out in the basement for a half hour. My Dad was right, Joey was a horn dog but I wasn't ready to go "all the way". He asked many times but I always said "No". He respected me and the worst deed we did was dry humping. He also gave me a hickey but I was smart enough to wear turtle necks for a week, my Dad never knew. I'd always make sure to watch the clock and to get out of the house by 5:00pm. When my parents pulled up, we'd be at the assigned station, the front porch.

I begged my Dad for months to let me go out on a date with Joey. He made me feel like a baby. All of my other friends were allowed to date on Friday nights. One Friday, Joey asked my Dad if he could take me to Olive Garden for dinner, a group of friends were going together. My dad said "no" without even looking him in the eye. He just kept reading his newspaper.

An hour later, the biggest dork in the neighborhood that mowed our lawn asked my Dad if he could take me out to dinner. My Dad comes running inside with a big grin on his face.

"Hey, I changed my mind you can go out on a date tonight."

I thought I was hearing things. I was jumping with joy! Me and Joey out alone, like a real couple.
"What? You finally are letting me go out with Joey? Thanks so much, Dad! I'll call him now, he'll be so happy you've changed your mind about him."

"Not so fast, not Joey. Rama is a nice young man. He asked to take you out tonight. I think it's a great idea. Where are you taking her, Rama?"

I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Rama was standing there with huge smile on his face that revealed all the leftover lunch in his braces. My Dad was standing beside him chuckling. I wanted to kill him.

I survived the date night from hell. The next Friday, Joey and I were eating our pre-make out snack around 4:15pm. It was leftover Domino's pizza, we were sitting at the kitchen table. I thought I heard the garage door open but I had over an hour before my parents were supposed to arrive. Before I could check, the door flew open.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE? YOU KNOW THE RULES! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!" My Dad yelled at Joey.

I about choked to death on my pizza. I had never heard my Dad yell like that my entire life, he was a calm man. I'd never seen him in such a rage. While he was yelling he was approaching Joey. I thought he was going to hit him. I was scared shitless, I couldn't move. My Mom comes flying in the door after my Dad.

I remember Joey running out the front door quickly with my Dad on his ass. My Dad didn't say much to me except, "You are grounded for two weeks."

My Mom kept going on and on about it and how she was scared. She said when they pulled up in the driveway, my Dad saw his car. He didn't see us on the porch though.

"Where is she? She knows the rules, she better not be inside with him!"

Mom said he was in such a frenzy, he almost drove the Mercedes through the garage. He didn't put the car into park before jumping out and running in the house. Mom quickly put the car into park.

"Good thing you were eating pizza and not down in the basement getting all hot and heavy."

Yeah Mom, that wouldn't have been a good scene, would it? I still get nervous thinking about if they have arrived twenty minutes later and caught us dry humping. My Dad would have probably gone to jail and it would have been all my hormonal fault.

Why You Don't Want Me to Babysit Your Children

2006-08-22T14:32:00.000-05:00

My parents were going through a divorce when I was sixteen. That Christmas was going to be awful because my Dad was in NC with his girlfriend and my Mom had a new boyfriend in DC. When I got a letter from a family that I had babysat for asking me to come to London for three weeks to help care for their kids, I jumped on that offer!

I babysat for this family since I was 12. They lived two houses down on our street in Virginia. They had two sweet little girls, Megan and Katie. They wanted a little boy too and about a year before they moved to London they had Thomas. Thomas was a spoiled brat because he was the youngest and he was a boy. He got anything he wanted. I didn't realize how bad he was until I arrived.

I thought the parents were very cool. They were both young, in their mid-thirties. The mom would sneak cigarettes outside and give me wine to drink at night. My job was to care for Katie(4) and Thomas(2), Megan went to school during the day. I wasn't a full time Nanny, the mom didn't work. Since this was Christmas time, she was busy shopping and out at parties with her friends.

The first week I was there, I had fun. It was like vacation. One weekend, they even took me to the Cadbury chocolate factory. I love Cadbury chocolates. Comparing Hershey's to Cadbury's is like comparing gerbil balls to goat balls. I'm especially fond of Cadbury Roses, it's an assortment of caramel and nut chocolates. I bought five boxes.

At night, I would feel sad and homesick. Even though my family was a mess, I wished we were still one unit. I missed my sisters and my friends. It was the first Christmas I was alone. I'd lie in bed, cry while listening to "Now That's What I Call Music 1993" tape on my walkman and ate Cadbury Roses. One night, I was PMSing so the crying and cravings were worse. I got carried away and ate the entire box of Roses while feeling sorry for myself, it was probably over 30 pieces.

The next morning, the Mom came in my room to wake me up. She found the empty box of Roses and wrappers beside my bed. She asked me if I'd eaten the entire box in one night. When I told her I did, she decided to keep the rest of the boxes hidden until I went home. She took my chocolates away and I'd bought them with my own money! Bad move. Things just went downhill from there.

Christmas Day I was even more melancholy. Everyone was so happy and cheerful but me. The children had mountains of gifts to open. I had two. It brought back memories of my childhood and how things would never be the same again. I smiled and pretended to be happy but all I really wanted to do was listen to my music and eat chocolate.

The next night, the Mom was going out with friends for drinks. I was in charge of fixing dinner for the children. Thomas would never eat his food, his parent never forced him to eat either. His diet consisted of animal crackers and juice. Thomas always had a sippy cup full of juice and that was the reason he was never hungry.

While I was in the kitchen heating up green beans, tater tots and chicken strips, Thomas came in waving his empty sippy cup at me. "Jjjj-UUUU-sh?"

"No, Thomas. No juice now. I'm fixing you dinner, you are going to eat soon."

"NO! Jjjj-UUUU-sh! I want Jjjjj-UUUUUUU-SSSHH" and he fell into a heap on the floor, screaming for his juice and kicking his legs in the air.

God, I didn't feel like dealing with his bullshit. Thomas, his sippy cup and juice was like an addict with a pipe and crack. I grab the cup out of his hands and the wailing gets louder. I decided to trick him and put two tablespoons of juice in the cup and filled the rest with water. Diluted juice would hold him over until I could finish making dinner.

He was a little whipper snapper though. He took a sip of my concoction and then gave me that "You don't fool me" look.

"This NOT Jjjj-UUUU-sh!" He threw the cup on the kitchen floor. The lid came off and juice splashes everywhere. I saw red and it wasn't just the juice either.

I know that I cannot beat the crap out of the kid. I grabbed him by his arm though. He won't walk and he acts like dead weight. I tell him he is going to sit in the TV room until I'm finished with dinner. He still refuses to move, so I drag him by the arm in the TV room. Katie is watching "Land Before Time" and behaving very well when I drag Thomas into the room. I deposit him on the floor and go back into the kitchen to clean up the floor and finish dinner.

Once I have the meal on the table, I call the kids in and the girls happily eat. Thomas won't touch his food and gives me the evil eye. The Mom walks in while the girls are eating. When Thomas sees her, he bursts into tears.

"Thomas Baby, what's wrong?" She asks as she runs over to hold him.

"No Jjjj-UUUU-sh!" He says while glaring at me.

She runs to the kitchen to get his fucking juuush. She returns and hands it to him but he will not hold it with his left arm. (The arm that I used to drag his bratty butt into the TV room.)
"Thomas does your arm hurt, what's wrong my sweet boy?" The mom asks brat boy.

He looks in my direction and points at me. Great, now the shit's gonna hit the fan. She asks if I know what happened to his arm. Before I could explain, sweet little Katie decides to help me out. Thanks, girlfriend.

"Thomas was being bad so she had to drag him by his arm into the TV room."

The Mom's face went pale. She runs into the kitchen and breaks out cookies and candy. She hands him all these goodies but he won't use that arm. She thinks I pulled his arm out of socket. Now, I'm getting concerned. I know I pulled him but I didn't yank him. She calls her husband and tells him to come home right away because they are going to take Thomas to the hospital. All I could think of was going to jail in London for child abuse.

Thomas was a Daddy's boy. Once he saw his Daddy walk through the door, he ran into his arms and hugged his neck tight. He used both arms. The little actor forgot to play the part once he saw Daddy. I was relieved and apologized but I was never forgiven. The Dad wasn't as angry with me as the Mom. She wouldn't leave me alone with any of the kids that last week. She took me to the airport two hours early too, she didn't want me to miss my plane!

Needless to say, I wasn't invited back to London for any Nanny jobs again.

As a side note, I ordered some Cadbury Roses a few years ago, I can't find them in the US. The UPS guy left them in the blazing sun on the porch. When I discovered them, they were all melted and ants were crawling on the box. I stuck them in the freezer, waited for them to harden back up and ate them, ants included. Chocolate covered Cadbury ants! Just more protein, right?

Cabbage Patch Kid Christmas (Cont)

2006-08-21T16:10:00.000-05:00

Don read the post and said I didn't finish the story. Then I started reading the comments and they brought back more memories.

Emily and I loved to play with our kids for about two years. We'd take them for walks and I'd put him in Sweet Thunder's basket when I took her for a ride. Once, I crashed Sweet Thunder and Eugene went sailing through the air and lost his baseball cap. He ended up with bad road rash on his bald dome. I put a Band-Aid on his disfigured head.

When I moved to Spain, I played outside a lot more. Once I got a new bike, Eugene was forgotten. I looked for a picture of me and Eugene. I couldn't find one. I did find this picture of my Dad and me, Christmas in Spain.(For all the, "I like your Dad" fans) I got a 10-speed that Christmas. But Dude, check my mullet. Classic 80's.

My Mom did a lot of volunteer work while we moved base to base. She always liked to "run" the thrift shops. She would get so much pleasure out of helping young couples. My mom went to extremes though and would donate our things to the thrift shop. When I didn't show much interest in Eugene, she donated him without asking me about him.

I looked in my closet about a week later and noticed he was missing. When she admitted what she'd done, I got mad. He was special and had history. She felt bad about it. I asked her to bring him back from the shop but she'd already sold him for $2.00.

I still love my Mom even for selling my baby for $2.00. When I found that picture of my Dad above, I found my favorite Christmas picture of me and my mom when I was about 14. Even though I am trying to push her away, we look like we are happy.

And the dictionary? Well, the dictionary became sort of a love bible. My oldest sister started a tradition by writing "Rattlesnake" loves Jason or John or Phil. (My oldest sister's nickname was Rattlesnake)Around the age of the above picture with my Mom, I started writing the names of the boyfriends I was in love with. One boyfriend and I played sexual vocabulary with that dictionary. We would take turns underlining words in the dictionary like: aroused, erection, clitoris, climax) Bet my Dad never thought I'd be using the dictionary for that, huh?

But the sweetest part of the story is a treasure hunt. I told Don about the Eugene story and how he got sold right under my nose. A few weeks later, I woke up and found a card on the coffee pot. "Go To Import Gourmet and Spirits"

Once I got dressed, I drove to the shop and was handed a basket full of tea, coffee, candles, wine, chocolates and champagne. I got another card. "Go to the intimates department at Belk."

There, I was handed a gift bag containing a black lace bra and underwear set and a red lace teddy. I got another card. "Go to Green Valley Florist"

I picked up a dozen salmon colored roses and another card. "Go back home and look behind the couch."

When I got home and looked behind the couch, I saw Eugene Ernie's twin. Identical. The red baseball cap, overalls and green signature. He'd searched the internet and found a match in Kentucky and had him shipped. I got another card. "Go to room number 263 behind the Golden Corral and bring your gourmet basket."

When I arrived at the Hampton Inn, he had the room full of candles and soft music playing. A jacuzzi tub was full of bubbles. He opened the bottle of champagne in the basket and told me to look on the bed. There was a string with a note attached. It said, "Pull me". I reeled in a jewelry box containing white gold diamond earrings. I loved them because I don't care for yellow gold, they are difficult to find in white.

I know I have a wonderful husband. He is Don Juan di Marco. It's the sweetest thing that has ever occurred in my life. I decided to marry him not too long after that.

I gave the new Eugene to Monty. He was a bad boy and ripped him up. The only thing that was left besides mountains of fluff was the plastic bowling ball bald head.

The Cabbage Patch Kid Christmas

2006-08-21T11:34:00.000-05:00

When I was seven, we lived on an air base England. My Dad was flying the A-10 Warthog while we were stationed there. A girl my age named Emily moved in next door shortly after we had arrived. She'd been living in the US and she owned all sorts of cool toys and movies I'd never seen before. I'd never seen a music video and she had "Thriller" on VHS. I think we broke the tape from watching it so much.

My favorite toy she owned was a Cabbage Patch Kid. Her kid was a female with yellow yarn braids. The doll looked like Emily. She showed me the signature on her kids butt, only real Cabbage Patch Kids were marked with "Xavier Roberts". She had other baby dolls but they just weren't the same. She always got to be the Mama of the Cabbage Patch Kid because she had adoption papers. I mothered the hard, plastic, non-autographed babies that didn't rate to own adoption papers.

I begged my Mom for a Cabbage Patch Kid for months. When you live in Europe, it can be difficult to get the hottest American toys. We could never find any Cabbage Patch Kids at the base exchange. My mom told me to write my Grandma a letter and ask her for a Kid for Christmas. I wrote my Grandma almost every week. Emily had shown me a book of the Cabbage Patch Kids. I knew which type of baby I wanted to adopt. I wanted a bald baby boy. I didn't like the yarn hair. Still to this day, if I decide to have a real baby, I hope it's a boy and bald when I give birth. Something about those soft little fuzzy heads I love. I'm buzzing my baby if it's born with a bush on it's head!

I guess even in the US, it was difficult to buy the Cabbage Patch Kids during the craze. My Grandma wrote me telling me she'd driven to many different towns and they were sold out. With three weeks left until Christmas, a package finally arrived. It was from Grandma and it was full of wrapped Christmas presents for the family. My Mom unpacked the box and put the presents under the tree. I ran over and found my box. I shook the shit out of it. My Mom told me to put it down, I was going to tear the paper all up.

The box containing my Kid attracted me like a moth to a flame. For the first few days, I would sit by the tree next to the box. Then, I would hold the box in my lap. One day, my Mom left with my sisters to the store. I couldn't hold back any longer. I carefully pulled off the scotch tape without ripping the paper. I got a glimpse of my baby! It was a bald baby boy just like I'd wished for, he was perfect! I carefully taped the box back up before my family returned home.

Just like an addict, my bald baby in the box consumed me. I couldn`t wait for my mom and sisters to leave the house again so I could stare at him. Finally, another private day came when they left for a basketball game. I pulled off the tape again, carefully. This time, looking at my baby wasn't enough. I wanted to hold him and find out his name. I opened the box and took out the adoption papers. His name was "Eugene Ernie". I loved it, it fitted him well. He had on a red baseball cap and denim overalls. I pulled down his pants and looked at the green Xavier Roberts signature on his ass. Emily's baby's Xavier Roberts was in boring, black ink. I knew Eugene was special.

I packed him back up in the box because my family would be returning soon. I encountered a minor problem, the tape wouldn't stick anymore. I searched the house frantically for more scotch tape. I couldn't find any. The only thing I found was masking tape. I tried to hide the white masking tape the best I could. I pushed the box toward the back of the tree so it wasn't as obvious. I promised myself I wouldn't open the box again until Christmas Eve. I could wait for three more days.

Our family had a tradition of opening one present on Christmas Eve night. It was a little tease of what was to come. You know which present I was opening, I don't have to tell you. Everyone was gathered around the tree after dinner. My Dad tells my sisters and I to choose our presents. I sit beside the tree with my box containing Eugene Ernie.

My sister asks, "Why did you chose that box first without shaking any of the others?"

"Because it's from Grandma and I miss her." I thought I was so smart.

"Are you sure you want to open that present? Once you open it, you can't exchange it. You are stuck with that present all night."

She was kind of laughing while she was staying this and giving shifty eyed glances to my other sister and Dad. I just wanted her to shut up so I could open the box and hold Eugene forever.

"Yes, I am sure! I want to open his box now!"

My Dad gave me the go ahead and I ripped the paper off the box. I opened up the box and was in for a shock. Inside wasn't my beloved baby but a children's dictionary instead. I started hysterically sobbing.

"Where is Eugene?" I had just exposed my sneaky lying self but didn't care. My baby had been kidnapped!

My Dad and sisters were laughing their heads off. They had found out I was opening the box and playing with him. The masking tape wasn't a good idea after all. They exchanged Eugene for the dictionary the night before. It was a lesson they were trying to teach me about being dishonest. I didn't get Eugene that night, I had to wait until morning. I got sent to bed early because I threw the stupid dictionary at my sister. It was the worst Christmas Eve I remember but my sisters thought it was the greatest trick ever.

Random Friday Funny's

2006-08-18T15:18:00.000-05:00

I've been too serious lately. I've decided to lighten things up with some random funny things I've seen or done in life.

1) When my Mom farts while sitting, she has to lift one of her butt cheeks off the seat. It has to be mental thing. Maybe she thinks the gas will escape better if she helps it. Since she always does this ass cheek lift while farting seated, we all know what is coming. My sister's and I would always scream, "God, Mom! Could you fart somewhere else?"

One day, when I was eight, we were driving home in our Volvo. My Mom had picked my sisters and I up from school after playing golf- in a skirt. (remember the skirt part) She does her fart positioning, then starts screaming. The next thing I know we are swerving off the road. My sisters are yelling at Mom, "What are you doing? You are going to wreck the car! Drive on the road!"

We came to a skidding stop off the road. Half of the car was in the gravel, half in the grass. My Mom is almost crying. She jumps out of the car and pulls her skirt up and exposes her underwear. Now, my sisters are really freaking out. "Get in the car! The whole world can see your underwear! Why are you acting so crazy?"

When she finally calms down, she explains that a bee flew up her skirt while in fart position. It stung her ass three times. She wasn't storytelling either! When we got home, she pulled down her underwear to prove it to my sisters. I counted three, red, ass welts.

Warning!! Guys may not want to read this one, it's worse than the Myrtle Beach sanitary napkin story.

I went away to a church camp for two weeks when I was 13. Some days were spend trail hiking in WV, then swimming little creeks and waterfalls. My period came while at camp. I had always worn pads and was really bummed about about not being able to go swimming that day. One of my friends told me about tampons, she acted like they were God's gift to women. Now I know that they actually are but at 13, they really seemed scary. Stick that where?

Hiking wearing a pad equals diaper rash. The swim after the hike was my favorite part so I embraced the challenge and asked my friend for her "junior lite" tampon. On a mission, I headed to the bathroom.

She told me to just stick it in and push on the smaller part. I listened to her directions and felt very uncomfortable. I tried pull my underwear back on and thought,"I can't hike this way. I can't even sit down. I will be a pad princess forever!"

I had been in the bathroom for over five minutes and my friends came to check on me. She called outside my stall,

"Are you okay? Did you put it in?"

"Yeah but I can't walk or sit down. I don't think tampons are for me. How do I get it out? "

"Did you did what I told you? Push on the little thing?"

"Yeah, I did but the plastic is sticking out. It's hard and uncomfortable."

Silence.
.
.
.
.

"Are you still in here with me? What do I do? I'm not walking around with plastic hanging out of me!" I called out.

"You are telling me the plastic is still inside? You have got to pull out the applicator after you push it in! Oh my God! I can't believe you are that clueless!"

Jesus, forgive me for not studying the Tampax Tampon instructional insert!
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50-min. run

Same Back and Bicep workout as Monday's. I did add

12x15lb concentration curls for more bicep burn.

No More Junk in the Trunk

2006-08-17T11:37:00.000-05:00

Today is day five of eating clean. I'm actually feeling much better as long as I don't see french fries. It's not easy, let me tell you. When my husband and I went out yesterday, I ate a grilled chicken salad for lunch, boring! I watched servers bringing mounds of french fries and hamburgers. Ya know how I love french fries. I'm willing to ride in a police car for french fries.

I'm not as bloated. My wedding band is actually loose and my stomach is flatter. I'm not as groggy when I wake up in the morning. As a bonus, my skin looks better. I usually have some zits on my chin, they are trying to clear up.

I was eating a lot of processed foods. Tortilla chips, pretzels, Pop Tarts, sugary cereal, deli meat and bagels. I'm not sure if it's from cutting back on carbs or eating more protein and higher quality foods that is helping me feel better. It takes more work to eat clean, I have to plan ahead and have eggs boiled, chicken or turkey breast grilled and salad chopped. I think I'll be pleased with the results in the long run.
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CHEST & TRICEPS

Incline Bench Press (3 sets) 12xbar, 12xbar, 12xbar
Dumbbell Chest Fly's (3 sets) 12x20lbs, 10x20lbs, 8x20lbs
Incline Dumbbell Bench Press (3 sets) 12x20lbs, 10x20lbs, 8x20lbs, 8x20lbs
Peck Deck Machine (5 sets) 12x30lbs, 12x25lbs, 12x25lbs, 12x20lbs, 12x20lbs
Chest Press Machine (3 sets) 8x60lbs, 10x55lbs, 10x55lbs

Tri's Standing Cable Pushdowns (3 sets) 12x30lbs, 12x30lbs, 12x30lbs
Skullcrushers (3 sets) 12xEZ bar, 12xEZ bar, 12x EZ bar
Dumbbell Donkey Kickbacks (3 sets) 12x15lbs, 12x15lbs, 12x15lbs
Seated Press (3 sets) 12x90lbs, 12x100lbs, 12x100lbs
Assisted Dip Machine (5 sets) 12x50lbs, 12x50lbs, 12x45lbs, 12x45lbs, 10x40lbs

15 min. AB work, 45 min. run

Oh, the Places You Will Go!

2006-08-16T15:45:00.000-05:00

Today is a big day for Snag! She went to Raleigh this afternoon to take her ASVAB and enter DEP. (The Marine's Delayed Entry Program) That means, she will leave for bootcamp when she graduates next summer. I'm still in a bit of shock about how quickly it has occurred.

Just within the last two weeks, Snaggle has really been talking about the Marines. Her two older brothers are enlisted currently. She's been real serious about losing seven pounds since she's learned she's over the regulation. She has been going to the gym religiously, some mornings we will train together. Last Wednesday, she even went to my track workout with me. She started out barely able to run a mile. Yesterday, she was gushing about running three without stopping.

She has cleaned up her diet in the last two weeks. Her addiction was pizza. She could throw back a medium extra cheese and pepperoni pizza all by her lonesome. She used to live for Pizza Hut, she had it programmed in her cell phone for Christsake! Not a morsel since the weigh in though. She's really been trying and I'm very proud of her.

I'm worried about her too. I'm afraid that the Marines will take away the qualities I love about her so much. She'll become tough and hard like a piece of leather. Snag has been a very sensitive child and I'm scared they'll lamb baste her for it. Maybe that's what she wants though, to become tougher.

I have never seen her more excited about something before. She's always been a great student. She's always on the A-B honor roll. She's happy to bring home her stellar report cards. The plan for the past two years was to go to NC State after high school and become a vet.

The past few weeks have been completely different. Once she saw the recruiter and was serious about enlisting, she became determined and focused. She's been motivated and excited about tomorrow. She has taken control and has decided to open up a new chapter in her life. I still am allowed to worry though.

I can't wrap my brain around wanting to join the Marines. If someone was shouting while giving me orders and spitting in my face, I'd tell them,

"I'm not deaf and can you say it, not spray it?"

I'm just not obedient, never have been even with a father that was a general in the Air Force. He couldn't stand it. Nobody ever told him "no" in his life but me. Oh, he'd threatened me but it didn't get him anywhere. Like the time he demanded I say "sorry" to my sister for telling her to "shut up" or walk home five miles. I told him to stop the station wagon, I'd walk home. I did it too. My mom was all scared I'd get kidnapped.

We he took me to his new apartment because he was cheating on my Mom and getting a divorce, I gave him a piece of my mind. I gave him such a tongue lashing at 16, he stopped and got of the car that time. I'm not afraid of authority. I'm also am not willing to change my sense of self because someone "says so".

It's Maddy's life, not mine. Even if I think it's wrong for a drill instructor to scream at her, it doesn't matter. Her decision is making her as happy as a clam in spam. She didn't understand why I was spending so much time training for a Half Ironman. She told me she missed me and didn't know about all my changes. She never stopped loving me and when my big day came, she was out there cheering me on.

Snaggle, you know I love you like a rock star. I'm proud of you for being so brave and making such a life changing decision. I know you will be one of the best Marines that will be serving our country along with your brothers. I am happy and excited because these emotions are oozing from your pores. Oh, the places you will go!
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I was off today, it's supposed to be my rest week but I still weight trained.
My legs are so sore from the increase in weight yesterday, I had a hard time getting off the toliet today!

Running Coach for Dummies

2006-08-15T10:53:00.000-05:00

Alright, FlatmanI'm throwing down the gauntlet! After reading Nancy's post, we all want to see the ten pounds of muscle. Cuba said, "Show me the muscle-y"!

After my race on Saturday, my husband said, "I could see you running from over 500 yards away. It's easy to spot you because nobody runs like you do."

I should have left it at and just thought I ran "special". I just had to ask, "What is that supposed to mean?"

He replied, "You shuffle but run on your toes and you take baby steps."

Wonderful. Sounds like I look about as graceful as a sloth while running. Then I had a flashback to when I was five. My sisters always used to say I was mentally retarded because I walked on my tip-toes.

Can your running style and form be changed? It's hard for me to walk any differently. That is like training myself to speak with a Canadian accent. Who exactly would I go to to get running form help? I'd really like to look like a gazelle running if possible.
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Legs and ABs
Leg Extensions (2 sets Warm-up) 12x50lbs, 12x50lbs

Squats (5 sets) 12xbar+50, 12xbar+50, 12xbar+60, 12xbar+60, 12xbar+70

Sled 45 degree Lying Leg Press (4 sets) 12x90lbs, 12x90lbs, 12x110lbs, 12x110lbs

Leg Extensions (3 sets) 12x70lbs, 12x75lbs, 12x80lbs

High Step Ups (4 sets) 12x(2)15lb dumbbells, 16x(2)15lb dumbbells, 20x(2)15lb dumbbells, 20x(2)15lb dumbbells

Lying Leg Curls (3 sets) 12x40lbs, 12x45lbs, 12x45lbs

Straight Leg Dead Lifts (3 sets) 12xbar, 12xbar+20, 12xbar+20

Adductor (3 sets) 12x80lbs, 12x90lbs, 12x100lbs

Abductor (3 sets) 12x80lbs, 12x90lbs, 12x90lbs

20 min. of Cathe Friedrich's Core Max segment 3 DVD.

Time For A Cool Change

2006-08-14T18:29:00.000-05:00

I'm really happy that I have only one more race this season. I have over a month from now until I race. I can weight train more. I think I am burnt out with triathlon and races at this moment. Maybe I picked too many races my first year out.

I enjoy lifting weights. I like to see my muscle definition, I like to feel strong. It's hard to train for endurance events(eating carbs) while trying to build lean muscle(heavy weight training, low carbs/more protein).

Since my races are coming to an end, I'm going to start getting tougher about diet and lifting. Today, was the first time since March I have increased my weights and lifted until failure. I have been afraid to weight train hard since I started racing. I thought I should "save" myself. I'm also cutting back on carbs. I have been eating everything/anything I want while training for races. I have been "eating clean" since Bandit's.

I'd like to get down to 12.5% body fat. I'm currently 14.5%, I weigh 116. The tricky part about body fat percentage is when you lose weight, you tend to GAIN body fat. I'll probably need to put on more weight to reach 12.5%.

So, we will have to see if Nancy's theory about weight and speed is correct.. Once I reach my goal!
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I was suppose to take four days off after this race, I just can't be that still. I haven't done any tough cardio work. My legs are still a bit sore from Bandit's.

40 min. cardio, Elliptical

Back
Lat Pulldowns (4 sets) 12x65lbs, 12x80lbs, 12x85lbs, 12x90lbs
Bent Over Rows (4 sets) 12xbar+10, 12xbar+10, 12xbar+20, 12xbar+20
T-Bar Rows (3 sets) 12x65lbs, 12x70lbs, 12x70lbs
Dumbbell One Arm Rows (3 sets) 12x25lbs, 12x25lbs, 12x25lbs
Assisted Pull-up (3 sets) 12x60lbs, 12x50lbs, 12x50lbs
Biceps
Standing Olympic Bar Curls (4 sets) 12xbar, 12xbar, 12xbar+10, 12xbar+10
Seated Dumbbell "Arnold" Curls (4 sets) 12x15lbs, 12x15lbs, 12x20lbs, 12x20lbs
Preacher Curls (3 sets) 12x30lbs, 12x40lbs, 12x35lbs

Bandit's Challenge Race Report

2006-08-12T14:07:00.000-05:00

You can call me naive, blissfully unaware, inexperienced or heedless but I am not a quitter. See, this was not only my first age group race in the series but also my first "D" as in difficult race and my first Olympic distance. To quote the parts of the bike and run course descriptions from Set-Up's website:

"At the very beginning of the bike, you realize what Bandits is all about. Coming out of transition you immediately have to climb up to the top of the dam in order to exit the park. This is one nasty little very steep climb. It's always a good idea to make sure that when you rack your bike, you have it in your smallest gear. Just about the time you have caught your breath, you encounter the biggest climb on the course (about the 2 mile mark). The climb isn't very steep but you climb for over a mile."

"The run course at Bandits is what makes this race famous. There are three VERY steep climbs. Fortunately they are not very long. Remember the climb out of the transition area up to the top of the dam at the start of the bike? - well you tackle it again right at the beginning of the run. BUT, it's the climb on the other side of the dam that you have to do twice on this two-loop run course that people talk about the most. Words just don't do it justice. We estimate that over 90% of all participants walk this hill during the race including many of the Elites."

Oh, friends tried to warn me about Bandit's Challenge. When I asked my girlfriends to do this race with me, they declined and asked if I was crazy. After today, I think I am certifiable.

When we got to packet pick up, I thought the shirt in my bag was very original and funny. It says:
"I swam it, I biked it and I did the dam run." Still, I was clueless. Until we drove to the race site.

When we parked the van near transition area, I saw the steep hill coming out of transition. I wanted to try out which gear would be easiest to use and practiced last night before the race. I had to get in Clifford's babiest gear, the tinest of them all and I had to stand up while climbing the hill. When I came back to the car, Don says,

"Wow, was that hill hard to climb? You were going so slow, I thought you were going to tumble over."

I love you too, thanks for your observation, dearest husband. I thought that hill was bad until I saw the run course hills, they were so steep I felt scared thinking about running down them. Maybe I could roll down them and crawl back up? Then some set-up guy tells me to run in the grass because it kills your legs to run down the hill. I realized why this course was called "Challenge". Because it sure as hell didn't look like a walk in the park. I kept telling myself I'd be fine, it was nice and cool in these mountains. I wouldn't overheat at least.

We had a nice room at the Hampton Inn, it was suite. We ordered carry-out sushi and ate in the room for dinner. My fortune cookie said, "Listen to you intuition." I really needed to sleep, I stayed up until 2am on Thursday night. The bed was glorious. Because I let our Doberman sleep with us at home, we cannot have a pretty fee-fee-foo-foo bed filled with white, cottony pillows. They called it "cloud nine bedding" and it indeed felt heavenly. I conked out at 8:45pm.

When the alarm sounded at 4:45am, I felt pretty good. I had a great sleep and felt rested. Until I opened the curtain to look outside. It was pouring rain. We look at the weather channel and it doesn't look good. I'm kinda freaking out now because if it is raining, I don't ride my bike. I have very little wet road/brake experience, especially in the mountains. I was also freezing after leaving the bed made of feathers. I'm used it it feeling like it's 100 degrees. Raining and in the 70's, I started shivering!

"Honey, I don't know if I should race in this rain. Could we stay in the cloud nine bed instead? My fortune cookie said to follow my intuition. It's telling me being warm and dry is better than cold and wet."

As much as I give my husband a hard time, he is wise. He always knows the right thing to do. He said, "You can do it, you are not a quitter. Embrace the challenge!"

It's all he needed to say. We ate breakfast, drank coffee and bugged the houskeeping lady for trash bags so we could create makeshift ponchos. We headed to the race site in the dark, cold rain. Guess who had a transition area right behind me? TriDaddy! I took off my trash bag for a picture!

Even though I was smiling, I was cold and scared. I was mostly scared about the bike though. Would my brakes work going down the hills? Worrying about my hands being wet and slipping off the handle bars. I started thinking about my fear of falling and road rash. Did I tell you I was fucking cold? So cold that when it was my turn to swim I was thankful. The water was warmer than the outside air temperature. I needed to get moving to get warm or I thought my nipples would crack from being so hard for a long period of time.

The swim was pretty uneventful. I got warmer with blood circulating. It seemed long. I realized that wetsuits help a lot. My longest swim was WL Half, wetsuits were allowed. My legs felt a little tired at the end of this swim.

I get out of the water and it's still raining pretty hard. I run to Clifford splashing mud all over myself. My transitions will suck because I wanted to keep my things dry and wrapped them in plastic bags. I climb the hill over the dam and exit the park. I see another blogger, Brett! I get up to a decent speed and I'm cold again. I think I had goosebumps the entire ride. The rain feels like little needles poking me. The faster I went, the more the downpour would sting. I knew the bike would be hard and it was probably more mentally difficult than physically.

I dropped my chain climbing a hill. Because I'm mechanically challenged, I had to get off and put it back on. It look me two minutes. People weren't following rules either. Lots of drafting going on. Probably because officials didn't want to drive motorcycles around in the rain. I was behind this pink Barbie girl the last nine miles. I seriously wanted to bitch slap her because she was riding in middle of the lane! When I passed her, I literally had to yell "on your left"! Not once but twice. She didn't move over either. I didn't want a penalty for passing on the right or going over the line. She passed me back going down a hill. It wasn't worth crashing to keep passing back and forth. "Barbie girl, learn how to ride your pretty pink bike in a race okay?!! Quit being so pink and stop acting like a road hog!" I came in on her tail, you can see her bike in the picture.

I was so happy to be off my bike in one piece. Usually, it's my favorite leg. I knew what was ahead for the run but I was alive, in one piece, and running! I knew I wouldn't feel fridgid during the run. Running always makes me sweaty.

The run was very difficult and I walked up the mountains. Even walking, my quads were burning. I saw girls in my age group passing me. I just didn't have the extra "uuuoommmppphh" to chase them down. This wasn't a tri that I really raced hard because I was so nervous on the bike. I just wanted to finish it.

When I finished, my husband, Brett and TriDaddy were waiting for me. I had seen Tri Daddy and Brett on the run course too. We always encouraged each other every time we passed. It helped because I didn't feel so alone without any of my girlfriends racing with me. I never knew blogging could bring such support. Thanks for my husband and all the volunteers for cheering us on in the rain, I know it was wet and cold for you too!

I didn't place in age group. In fact I would guess I placed close to last because I doubt all 12 girls that registered in my age group showed up. Only the hard core triathletes were out there today (and the crazy ones like me). This was the probably most difficult race for me to date. It's funny how it changed me though. Maybe the rain was good because I told myself this morning, "You just have to finish today". I didn't beat myself up for not placing like I thought I would. My final race this season, Pinehurst will look like a piece of cake compared to Bandit's.

I will update this entry when my times and splits are posted. I know that my finishing time was 3:09 but that's it. I had to stick around for awards to find out where I would have finished if I'd stayed novice. I would have placed 1st by twenty minutes. I have no regrets though because I wouldn't have cheated anyone but myself by winning so easily.

Seven hours after the race and I'm still FREEZING!
Results have been posted, The Cold Hard Facts:

5/7 Age Group, 30/66 Overall

Swim: 32:00/ 1.5k 2nd Age Group, 19 overall

Bike: 1:37.55/ 45k 5th Age Group, 31 overall

Run: 56:00/10k 5th Age Group, 41 overall

I have been really disappointed with my run times lately. I run a lot during training every week too. I can run 8 minute miles easily during my long training runs. When I race, I am really trying but obviously not moving very quickly. During the run leg, all I wanted to do was stop. I wanted it to end. Maybe I need to play with nutrition more, I ate two gels during this race. Maybe it wasn't enough. I was going to eat a third on the run but it just didn't sound appetizing.

I Think I Am Right Brained

2006-08-10T19:16:00.000-05:00

I passed geometry in 10th grade with this pastel. This was final project that was worth four test grades. I got 108 on my MC Escher inspired pastel, it was graded by students and my teacher. It was my redemption. It was my way of expressing 360.

I Made it Through the Class

2006-08-10T14:55:00.000-05:00

Today, I rested to prepare for Saturday's race. I packed, swept the floors, mopped them with bleach, washed all the bed linens and I went to a yoga class! When I get a massage, my therapist always gets mad at me about not stretching enough. She has asked me to go to yoga classes. I never tried it until today.

Yoga classes remind me of nap time in pre-school. A darkened room, laying on a mat and someone talking in a soft voice telling me to quiet my mind and relax. Maybe that's the" gyno" talk. I am afraid I'll fall asleep and start drooling during class. I expect the instructor to hand out orange juice and graham crackers when I'm done.

Today, I made it through the entire class without snoozing. I felt very tired when I was done though, like I needed a nap. It also gave me a slight headache. I'm not a headachy person either! I think I try too hard to relax and I give myself brain overload.

I'm headed to the mountains tomorrow. I'm still scared but I'm going fight through my first age group race and try my best. I was disappointed to find out I'll be wearing a yellow swim cap. I really wanted to wear a pink cap for Bolder .

Any advice about nutrition for an Olympic race? I already bought some Uncrustables and Ensure that Nancy talked about on her blog. I'll eat this in the morning, pre-race. Would two gels and water during the race be enough? One gel on the bike, one on the run?

Tonight, I'm going to eat some scrumpdiddlydumpcious lobster and artichoke/cheese ravioli. Yummy, yummy for my tummy. Is it dinner time yet?

Greenpeace and the Gift of Gravel

2006-08-08T10:25:00.000-05:00

One cold, February night when I was 14, there was a knock at the door. My Mom answered it but I walked down the hallway to check it out. There in my threshold stood the most gorgeous, earthy, scruffy bearded Greenpeace guy. He was asking for donations. My Mom obviously had a bad day at work and was tired. She didn't even hesitate saying "No, thanks!" to the godly Greenpeace gent. She closed the door in his face.

I decided I would give a $5.00 donation and I ran upstairs to fetch money from my babysitting funds. I was wearing a sweatshirt and long johns and decided I didn't have enough time to change. I didn't want to look like a teeny-bopper stalker so I decided to bring my chocolate Lab, Sam. If he worked for Greenpeace he had to love animals, right?

Let me fill you in on Sam. Sam was a good dog for a young girl. He was full of energy and love. He wasn't intelligent like Monty though. If Sam could talk, he would sound like that cartoon character that says, "Duh-uh, Whatever you say boss.." My mom would drive Sam and I to obedience classes because he was strong and difficult to control. He was the worst dog in the class. He was completely out of control, smelling other dogs' butts the entire time. We knew he was going to fail so we didn't go to graduation. We went to Taco Bell instead.

I put Sam on his leash and ran outside into the cold, dark night after Greenpeace guy. It had snowed and the street was icy. The gravel and salt truck had come through earlier that evening. It was easier to run on the street than on the sidewalk. I slipped on ice because it was so dark and Sam kept on trucking, like a sled dog. I was getting dragged on the ice by this 100 pound oaf. I was screaming "Stop Sam! Heel! Stop!" I don't know why I just didn't let go of the leash.

The Greenpeace god heard all the commotion and came running over to help. Sam finally stopped to lick him. My knee was throbbing. I wanted to cry but I wouldn't do it in front of this hottie.

"Are you okay? Your dog was really dragging you down the road!"

I could feel warmth and wetness from my knee dripping down onto my socks. All I could manage to get out because of my pain was "I'm fine. I wanted to donate $5.00. I have to go. Bye."

"Are you sure you are alright? Maybe we should walk under that street lamp so I can look at your leg, I think I see blood."

I didn't want to see. Because if it looked as bad as it felt, I knew I would cry. I gimped home fast.

When I saw my knee in the light, I was horrified. My long johns were saturated in blood, they were ripped in the knee. When I took them off, my knee looked like it was chewed up and spit out. I had pieces of gravel stuck in my flesh. My Mom asked if I wanted her to "scrub it out with a toothbrush". Yeah Mom, sounds like just what I need. Do you want me to saw off your fingers with a nail file?

I had trouble walking for the first few days. I couldn't bend my knee or I'd rip open the scab and it would bleed. I had to wrap my knee in gauze for two weeks. I soaked it every night then doused it with peroxide. It would drain pus from the embedded gravel. Finally after about a month, a thick 1/2 inch scab formed.

That scab I had worked so hard on was ripped off at a basketball game. Some dumbass tripped me. I tried to catch myself and protect my wound. Those rubber type gym floors aren't so forgiving on scabby knees. I was bleeding like a stuck pig. The dumbass felt really bad as I walked off court leaving droplets of blood behind.

I had to begin again healing my knee. It was getting warmer and I decided to wear a skirt to school. It exposed my scabby, pus filled, bubbled up knee. I had seen it for so many weeks, I was used to the monstrosity.

There was this boy in school name Corey, he was a year older than I. He was the class clown. The smart ass with all the answers and the cruel jokes. He had liked me and I had spurned his advances. He'd write me notes and threatened to tease me if I didn't write him back. I told him, "I don't fucking care! I'm not wasting my time writing you." I didn't really care until I the day I revealed my ugly knee.

Corey had a field day when he saw it. He screamed out loud in front of the entire class, "Jesus! Cover that shit up, it's the ugliest thing I ever seen. It's all bubbly and weeping green crap! What kind of disease do you have?" The entire room turned to look at my leg.

To this day, you can still see the dark gravel in my left leg. All for the love of Greenpeace.

Myrtle Beach and the Band Nerds Mayhem

2006-08-07T14:00:00.000-05:00

Sorry about my pissy attitude yesterday. I appreciate the comments, encouragement and advice. I'll take some time to digest them all. But back to the fun Mojo.

I started playing the flute in sixth grade. In junior high school, I was pretty serious about it. I took private lessons. There was 1st-3rd chair and most of my 7th-8th grade years, I was 1st chair flutist. That meant I got to play the solo part during concerts. My Dad was all about me playing the flute. He loved when I practiced in front of his recliner after work. Even when I screwed up, he still enjoyed it. I think it gave my Mom a headache, she'd always call it my tooty-flutey.

I became friends with a girl named Liza in junior high band. Liza played the saxophone. We decided to sign up for band our freshman year together. People would always tease us about being with a bunch of "band nerds". We found out we had to do marching band if we wanted to play in the highest level of the high school band, symphonic band. Liza and I decided that 1st chair didn't mean as much anymore. We settled for concert band, the second level HS band. In concert band, we just had to do evening performances, no marching band bullshit. Concert band wasn't that bad. I had to wear a cummerbund and bow tie but I survived. My Dad thought I looked wonderful!

****I just came back to edit because I spelled it "cumberbun", I knew it didn't look right. It looks like cinnabun or honeybun. But it's really "cummer"bund. Add a T and we have a cake.******

The real reason Liza and I even signed up for HS band was because every spring, the band would go to Myrtle Beach to compete, without our parents! We had to be sophomores though. Liza and I stuck it out for almost two years for that trip. We sold oranges and grapefruit to make money to go. We were called the "band babes".

Liza was a beautiful girl, I called her an "exotic". She wasn't scared to be the first to wear a plaid skirt with giant safety pins and combat boots. She followed her own drummer. I'll always remember Liza and her red lipstick, she always had her lipstick on. The reeds for her sax were always stained red. She always looked glamorous. She confided in me that she wanted to be a supermodel after high school. I believed in her too. She was very tall, had beautiful facial structure and she was my "exotic".

Usually in high school, girls are very jealous of each other. Liza and I weren't like that. She had her little nickname for me too, "My cute, little Mojoeeeee" (but insert my real name) We were opposites. She was tall, I was small. She was pale, I was tan. I liked lip gloss, she liked red lipstain. She had dark hair, I had every color of hair. I had junk in the truck, she had a little butt. We attracted completely different types of guys. We made a good team.

Our spring break at Myrtle Beach finally came after almost two years. We were so excited. The only problem was, we had to share a room with one of the biggest dorks in band. Her name was Jessie. We just planned to spend as much time out of the room as possible.

The entire bus ride down to SC, we listened to U2 Achtung Baby. We loved So Cruel and Wild Horses. We arrived very early in the morning and got unpacked. Later that day the entire band went to downtown to the boardwalk. Our band instructor, Mr.Taylor knew we were trouble. He watched us like a hawk. When we were talking to some sailors, he comes flapping over yelling "They are only 16, back off sailors!"

Liza was pissed and smoked a cigarette before we went back to the hotel. When we got to our room, Jessie started spazing out that Liza smelled like cigarettes and she had asthma. We went up to the jacuzzi to shut her up. For some reason, we decided to talk off our swim suits. About two minutes later, we see Mr. Taylor walking toward us. We dunk underwater and put our suits back on real quick and exit the hot tub. I wasn't paying attention to Liza until we got back in the elevator. In her rush, she'd put her suit on inside out! All the padding in the breast cups was hanging out for the world to see. It was some funny shit.

We saw some of the finest sufer dudes that night. We called down to them from our balcony to quietly come up to room 356. Jessie had went down the hall to practice her trumpet in her friends room. As soon as the hot surfer boys got into our room there was a knock at the door. It was Mr.Taylor with his fucking walkie talkie, like he was on Miami Vice or something. "One of the chaperones saw you calling to the boys. You are not to have any boys this room! You two better knock it off or we'll send you home at your parents' expense." Mr. Taylor was such a cock blocker!

We decided to be mischievous and play a prank on some of the band boys. We went down to the front desk and pretended we lost our card key. They gave us a card to the boys room. Liza and I bought some ketchup, a box of pads and tampons. We headed to the boys room and started decorating. We hung tampons from all the light fixtures, stuck pads on the walls and spread them with ketchup. We filled the sinks and bathtub with water, ketcup and tampons. We stripped the beds and tied the sheets to the balcony. We unscrewed the mouth piece to the telephone and hid the microphone part. We knew that when they came back, they'll call and tell Mr.Taylor. We went through their bags and found tighty whitey's with skid marks and made a path on the floor. And then the door opened, the boys caught us in action.

Liza was strong. She ran out of the room and got free. The boys had a hold of me though. She came and rescued me but we had gotten too loud. A chaperone comes running down the hall into the pad/tampon party room. The chaperone turned pale, he was in shock.

"This is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen! You girls are in big trouble! I'm calling Mr.Taylor! Look at all these sanitary napkins strewn about!"

I couldn't control myself. What idiot calls them sanitary napkins? "Ummmm, you mean pads and tampons that are covered in blood?" He looked like he was going to pass out.

I really pissed him off and he went running to the phone. He calls to Mr.Taylor's room. He's so angry, he is spitting and frothing at the mouth.

"I have the two trouble makers up here and you wouldn't believe what they have done."

Too bad Mr.Taylor couldn't hear him because we removed the microphone. Idiot chaperone keeps calling Mr.Taylor back because he keeps getting hung up on. I couldn't stop laughing. I think Liza peed in her pants.

We almost got sent home. For the rest of the trip, we were confined to our room. We didn't join band our junior year because they told us we weren't allow to go on the trip again. We had fun though, I've never laughed so hard.

The saddest part of this story is that I recently learned Liza had died in 2004. Her family didn't discuss why, it was probably suicide or an OD. She had made it into modeling too, below is a picture of her at a photo shoot. Her dream had come true. I am sad my partner in crime is gone forever. Wild Horses is for Liza, because she was like black beauty. Dark, strong and "exotic". I will always think of her when I wear red lipstick.

Houston, We Have a Problem

2006-08-06T14:53:00.000-05:00

If you like reading funny, happy Mojo stories, this post isn't for you. I'm feeling a little in the pity party mode right now. I'm going to write it down because I want to remember these days too. Maybe I will learn something from your comments, whether they be positive or negative.

I'm afraid about my upcoming race on Saturday because I won't place. Today, before my run, I actually thought about backing out of it. When I first decided to do triathlon in January, I did have a goal. I wanted to finish the White Lake Half to test myself. I wanted to find out if I was okay. I wanted to know my body hadn't failed me.

Before I even got to that race, I did two sprints. I placed 2nd and 1st novice and I liked winning. It made me feel special, alright? It made my friends and family proud. I got to have my "moments of glory". I finished the White Lake Half and felt great. I didn't feel like it had killed me, I was bopping around until after 11pm that night. I placed 1st novice all the following races. I surprised myself by not only reaching my goal but succeeding more than I had ever imagined.

I decided to switch to age group for Bandit's and Pinehurst. To push myself and to face reality. I don't like what I see as the race nears. I'm going to be honest about why. Because I will not place. Because I'm doubting myself. Because I don't know if I have the ability to ever place again. Some people are naturally gifted, like the people that run 5-6 minute miles. I truly feel like it will be impossible for me to ever run that fast. My legs and cardiovascular system just isn't built for that quick business.

What bothers me the most about it is that I train and push myself hard. This is the hardest I have worked my entire life. I will not quit a workout, I'm crazy like that. Like today, when I thought about pulling out of this race, I still did my 1:45 minute run. If I didn't do it, I knew I would feel even worse. Someone that doesn't complete workouts doesn't deserve to win. It's a pill to swallow, trying hard but not winning.

I know, I know. I sound very ungrateful for life right now, sorry. (I promise to post something funny tomorrow) I should be happy just to be doing triathlon. I'm healthy and in the best shape of my life. We're able to pay the entry fees, travel to races and I have support. What more could I ask for, right? I'm just struggling with the entire "winning, placing" issue. As sad as it sounds, if I place, I feel good enough.

And maybe this is part of the reason I haven't been posting about triathlon lately. I didn't want to admit to these thoughts.

Bouncy, Bouncy, Bouncy

2006-08-05T14:48:00.000-05:00

I did a ride for relay for life today. It was a last minute decision because I haven't gotten in enough bike miles this week. I have Bandit's Challenge next week and I'm nervous. Since I was selling the goats, I missed both evening group rides this week. Potential buyers always came after work and the group rides start at 6pm. I decided to go for gold and do the 100k ride today.
Starting out on the ride, Clifford was being a bad boy. He was making all sorts of noises while shifting and would really bark if I put him in the large rings in the back. It sounded like an extremely loud tooth grinder. I thought I knew what the problem stemmed from.

See, Don gets all ape shit about how my bikes are packed in the van. He likes me to use bungee cords and secure them tightly. He hates seeing a bike laying down on it's side. I asked for a kickstand. He threatens to sell my bikes if he finds they are be abused by me.

A few days ago, I didn't lock Clifford in the van tightly enough and he went crashing over on his side, hard. I didn't pick him back up and bungee him back in either. Today, I paid for it. I couldn't use any of the hard gears. Going down steep hills, I'd just pedal for nothing. Finally, I gave up trying to crank hard and just coasted down all the hills.

Then, when some guys were trying to help me figure out the problem, I almost wrecked. Because I dropped the chain when they told me to go into the hard gears. I freaked out and was just spinning air while going up hill. One of them saw I was going to fall over and grabbed me, thank God! I hate falling over, it always hurts my hip and I can't sleep on that side for a few nights. I owe that dude some soap.

When I finished the ride and was driving home, I decided to take Clifford to the bike shop. I was kind of scared that I really fucked him up. I didn't know how much it would cost to repair him. I think I'm going to need Clifford for Bandits Challenge because that race is so hilly.

I called Don at work while driving to the shop. "Hi Honey, how did the ride go?"

"It was okay. Something is wrong with Clifford though. I couldn't switch gears."

"Do you know why?" he asked.

"Nuh-uh, something with my chain ring?"I played the dumb non-mechanical chick card.

"Yes you do, you know the exact reason. It serves you right that you had problems with your bike today. I looked through your van window and saw the bike laying down!"

Busted.

And so is my crotch because I did an awful lot of bouncing while pedaling at like 200 RPM.

Lesson Learned.

Too Much Information

2006-08-04T17:24:00.000-05:00

Okay, I'm just going to warn you. This post has nothing to do with training or triathlon. My husband actually brought it to my attention that most of my posts don't. I do create race reports. I don't like talking about training all the time. Because my life is more exciting than running 6 miles, working my triceps and chest and spending some time next to my Mom on the elliptical today. I enjoy the comedy in life.

I kind of felt bad I didn't talk tri stuff today, after he brought it up. I thought maybe I should have two separate blogs. One about life and one about training. My husband asked me not to write this post but it amuses me. It's my blog for Christ Sake! I write it more for me than anyone else. I want to remember this moment five years from now, even though it's embarassing. Don't read it if you don't like it. I'm brutally honest, even if it makes me look bad. So, if you have a problem with sex or farting stop reading right this moment. I don't want any too much information comments. IMO

You have been warned. I tell this story because I'm sure it's happened before. Also, when it happens to you, you won't feel so alone.

Last night, I was too lazy and depressed/drunk about selling the goats to make dinner. I settled on a bowl of bran cereal and the Dannon Activa Yogurt. The yogurt that says it helps with digestive health. I usually eat this yogurt in the morning. It was my dessert last night.

I think I'm close to ovulating, my sex drive is up. This morning, we were making love before work. My stomach woke me up making weird noises. It looked kinda puffy. I was in the mood anyway and you know how you just go limp when you 'gasm? Well, I let out a really loud, long fart. It didn't stink but it was in fuckin' stereo.

I was in shock. I hardly ever fart, for real! It is like a treat for Don to hear me fart. He's always like "Aaaaawwwwwwww!! I heard that little trumpet toot you just did!" It's a baby beep noise.

What happened this morning, wasn't a trumpet. It was a tuba. I wasn't sure what to do. I pretended in my seconds of bliss he was deaf enough not to hear it. When I saw the expression on his face I knew he heard it. How could you not? I will still shocked, I bet it shook the headboard!

I started hysterically laughing. I mean hurt my AB muscles laugh. He did too. That is why I love him. He doesn't make me feel like a nasty buzzard, he just kept going. I'm not eating that Activa or Bran cereal at night anymore!

It's Never Easy

2006-08-03T16:24:00.000-05:00

I put an ad in the newspaper yesterday for goats. I need to sell the boys because they are getting horny. They are starting to pee in their beard, snort, stick their tongue out and they try to mount. I don't want any girls bred yet. If they were bred now, that would mean they would give birth in January. I like them to kid in March.

I have to cut down the herd, you can't keep them all. I sold nine goats today. Deciding which females will be sold is difficult. I always feel like I'm playing God. "Your life will be spared because you have better udders."

I got a phone call and a family offered me a good deal on all the goats. They want them for food. It much easier for me to sell them all at once. Because when I sell one or two at a time, I just suffer longer. I just have to "steel" myself.

Tonight, I caught the boys for the last time. I fed them all some golden delicious apples. I gave them their last sweet feed meal. The most difficult goat to say good-bye to was Fancy Pants. She just stood there when I to catch her and let me lead her by the collar. It was almost as if she knew this was her last walk with me through the green pasture.

I thought it would get easier. This is the third season I have sold the goats knowing they will be dinner. It's not easy. I feel like a hypocrite sometimes. I eat chicken, beef, pork and fish. I know my goats will provide an extremely healthy feast for many people. I still feel wrong about people eating the goats I helped deliver. My emotions can change so quickly. Just four hours ago, I was wearing lingerie for my husband and feeling sexy. Now, I'm sweaty with goat stench and feel guilty.

We loaded them up and I got paid. (notice horn dog's tongue sticking out) I looked in the back of the trailer one more time and told them "Sorry little babies". I hope I was a good Mom to them while they were here, I will miss them. It still doesn't help. I hope I'm not going to hell for all this sacrificing of beautiful animals. I'm going to have some gin and tonic now.

7:46pm
Had some gin and tonic and have a rant:

Please don't come to my farm and pick up my animals and ask, "Can I slit their throat or tie their legs up and throw them in a pick-up to get them home?"

No, I loved them. I want to see them leave me alive and know I did my best while caring for them. I'll give you our pick-up and trailer to take them, safely. I am too much of a whimp to watch the death.

My Fear of Merging

2006-08-02T11:44:00.000-05:00

If I ever complain about being too cold in the winter, bitch slap me and remind me of the first week in August. I just finished 2,200 in the pool and it was refreshing. I felt like I could swim all day but I don't want to injure my shoulder. I feel really sorry for the animals, they only protection they have is shade from trees or the barn.

Have you ever started writing about something and get completely off track? That's what I did yesterday. I was planning on writing about taking a patient to the hospital but I wrote about Eddie. Here's my original story:

I told you that as an activities person, I had to take patients to doctor's appointments. One morning, I walked into the rest home and the supervisor tells me I need to take Walter to a hospital in Greensboro called Moses Cone. They gave me very basic directions. Go up 421, get on I-40 and it's on Elm Street. Sounded simple enough.

Walter was a very nice man. I bought him a root beer and Camel cigarettes and he was happy as a clam during the drive. I had never driven to Greensboro before. Everything was great driving down 421, it's a country drive most of the way. Walter was telling me about thousands of bugs that try to sleep with him at night. If he wears his Superman socks to bed, they don't bite him.

When I started to merge on I-40, I panicked. I only had 1/4 a mile to merge on the highway. There were two lanes merging into five. It was tractor trailer city. I was driving the rest home van. When I merge, I don't know how to gauge speed either. Should I speed up or slow down? I my frazzled state I asked Walter "Are there any cars or trucks coming? Can I get over??" He said the coast was clear so I quickly tucked behind a 18-wheeler with only 100 yards of merge lane left.

I couldn't find the hospital exit and my shoulders and neck felt tight from gripping the steering wheel too hard. I finally decided to get off the highway and stop at a gas station to ask for directions. When I walked up to the cashier, I realized I forgot the name of the hospital because I was stressing out so bad. It was 10:45 and Walter's appointment was a 11:00.
"Can I help you?" the guy at the register asked.
"I am lost. I need to find the hospital around here."
"Which hospital? There are many in Greensboro."

Fuck, think brain trust, THINK! A light bulb went off. "I need to find the hospital that is named after some character in the bible!"

They cashier gave me a weird look like I was playing a riddle game with him.
"You mean Moses H. Cone Memorial?"

Bingo! I could have kissed that dude. I didn't want to have to call the rest home to find out what hospital I was driving to again. He gave me directions and I sped away with ten minutes to make Walter's appointment. I told Walter we were running late, so we needed to hurry when we got there. I parked and got Walter out of the car. I held onto his arm to keep him walking at a fast pace. We made it, I was only three minutes late.

The nurse took Walter in the back and returns twenty minutes later with a concerned expression. She starts asking me medical questions about Walter, like he lives with me 24/7. How long has he had diabetes? What medications has he been taking to control his blood sugar? Does he wear glasses? How long has it been since his vision has changed? I told her she needed to call the rest home because I didn't know. Lady, I feel like I don't know fucking anything today! Not even the name of this hospital, okay?

"Well, Walter needs to go into surgery immediately! His diabetes has caused blindness and he needs surgery now if we are to save any vision."

Huh? What? Walter is blind? An hour ago, he had told me no cars and trucks were coming on I-40, "Go, the coast is clear!" Exact words.

I used up another one of my lives that day. We should have died, I hope I didn't cause any accidents. More baffling is how he lit his smokes and threw them out the window or knew where the cup holder was for his root beer.

I told my supervisor I wasn't driving back to the bible hospital to pick Walter back up. The drive was too scary. Walter returned two days later, both eyes all bandaged up with white gauze. He looked like The Fly.

I'm still afraid of merging on major highways. I still ask for help but I make sure my passenger isn't legally blind!

Working In the Looney Bin

2006-08-01T12:20:00.000-05:00

After treatment, I started taking college courses and working full time. I was working at the restaurant part time in the evenings. I found a part time day job as an activities person at a "rest" home. It wasn't an old folks home, it was a home for mentally challenged people. I was in charge of playing games, reading and taking them to doctor or shrink appointments.

I really enjoyed the rest home job. Everyday was a new experience. Some of the patients scared me. Like old Dolly. Dolly would yell in a high pitched wicked witch of the west voice, "You little whore, I'm going to get you my pretty." She'd wait until I'd leave the door open to the office and sneak up behind me, screaming and pinch my arm, hard. I learned quickly to keep the office door locked because they'd eat my lunch, drink my diet cokes or wear my sweater/jacket or coat.

I watched he nurse giving out medication one morning. She was giving Helen some pills out of a birth control packet. I was shocked, why was Helen taking birth control? I had remembered one time, she had started her period and comes running down the hall waving her panties. "I'm bleeding to death help me!" The nurse informed me all female patients got the pill because they were sexually active. I didn't believe her until I saw Helen screwing Chuck in the woods. She came back all smiles and informed me she had three babies growing inside now. Two white and one black baby, all boys.

I tried to do nice things with them. Once I took them to pick strawberries. Everyone got a bucket and they were very excited. I was going to make shortcake at home and we'd have a party the next day. When I told everyone it was time to go and to bring me their buckets, one sweet old man handed me his bucket of green berries proudly. I told him he did a great job. I quickly threw them into the woods so I didn't have to pay for them when he wasn't looking.

I had some favorite patients. Eddie was my very favorite patient. He was in his late 60's, his file said " schizoid", but most of all the patients were diagnosed as schizophrenic. Eddie called me his "angel" and when I'd sit on the porch to read with him, he'd get really upset if a fly would land on me. "NO FLIES ON MY ANGEL!" and he'd shoo them away.

I'd asked Eddie if he'd like to go to Mc'Ds for lunch one day after his Dr.'s appointment. He said he was scared because black men weren't supposed to go out with white women, he may get beaten. I tried to reassure him it was 1997 but he didn't understand. He asked me to buy him a pack of Pall Mall's instead. Cigarettes were like gold at that place. Cigarette owners were like God.

Eddie's very favorite book was a book I had when I was a kid, Koko's Kitten.

It's a book about a gorilla named Koko and her trainer named Penny. Eddie loved to pretend that he was Koko and I was Penny. His favorite Koko picture was when she had her mouth wide open. Eddy had dentures he kept perfectly clean, he was always shaven and well groomed. He loved to open his mouth real wide and show his teeth like Koko.

One day, I couldn't come into work and called in sick. The following day I returned and Eddie wasn't waiting on the porch like he normally was every morning I pulled up. I found him still in his bed and I asked the nurse what was going on. I guess he acted badly when I didn't come into work and starting throwing things. They decided to up his medication to calm him down. Now he was in a drugged stupor. I went out to my truck and got Koko's Kitten. I brought it in his room and showed him his favorite open mouthed pictured.

He opened his mouth like Koko for a second and realized his dentures weren't in. He got upset and told me he didn't want to look at the book anymore.

The next day I came in, Eddie was gone. They said he'd try to slash his wrists and they sent him to the state mental institution. I was really sad. I never got to say good-bye. I would have given him my childhood book. I decided to call the state hospital and I got to speak with Eddie on the phone. I told him I was going to come and see him a week from Saturday. He just kept repeating "My Angel, my angel!" I asked if he wanted anything special to eat. He told me he would like some croaker or spot fish. I called all the seafood restaurants in the area but none of them had that type of fish.

My husband came with me that Saturday afternoon. It was over a two hour drive and I appreciated the company. We stopped when we got close to the institution and bought Eddie a fried flounder lunch and a pack of Pall Malls. I brought Koko's kitten with me too. I was excited to see Eddie, I hoped he remembered I was coming.

When we arrived, we had to sign in and they went to get Eddie. He staggered down the hall and he had googly eyes, like those puffy stickers. He hadn't shaved for a long while but he had his teeth in. I introduced him to Don and we went outside to eat lunch. When we got outside, I'd realized I forgot to bring drinks. Don offered to go inside and buy some Coke.

When Don left, Eddie started talking.
"I missed you Angel. Why did you bring him with you?"

"Thanks Eddie, I missed you too. I hope you are feeling better."

"I'd feel better if you'd spread your legs."

Whoa there cowboy. I couldn't believe what I had just heard. I decided to ignore that comment because Eddie had never been perverted before.

"Hey look Eddie, I brought you Koko's kitten. It's your favorite book and I want you to have it."

"I want to lick your pussy like creamed corn." He tried to pull me toward him.

"I don't like you talking to me like that. It's rude and I'm in a relationship with Don."

I was feeling very uncomfortable because I was with Eddie outside alone. We were also locked outside, I couldn't open the door to get back in. It felt like Don was taking forever to get the drinks. Most of all, I didn't want to get Eddie in trouble. If he grabbed me and someone saw or i got scared and screamed, I'd knew he'd be in big trouble. This wasn't the Eddie I knew, it was the drugs that were talking. Whatever medication he was on made him act ugly and violent.

Just as he was about to say something else I probably didn't want to hear, Don came back. Eddie never uttered another sexual word while Don was around. My heart ached though because I knew my Koko was lost for good. He had no interest in the book, he'd just stare at me with googly eyes. I never saw him again.

I still think about Eddie. I hope someone adjusted his meds because he is a dear, sweet soul. I miss him and the way he would shoo the flies away from me. Nobody else has ever done that for me since.
****I just removed Vanilla Ice's video because Don said "Take it off or buy me earplugs!"***

Troubled Teen Mojo

2006-07-31T14:53:00.000-05:00

I probably was the most difficult and disobedient child in my family. I think between the ages of 13-15, I drove my Mom to drink wine every night. My Mom hated two things, lying and black eyeliner.

When I turned 13, I started taking an interest in make-up. I was only allowed to wear Bonnie Bell lip gloss. A friend gave me a black eye liner and I thought it made me look so hot. One day, I came home from school with raccoon eyes and my Mom almost had a heart attack.

"What is that on your eyes? You look like a tramp! Take that off! You have natural beauty. You are never to wear that trashy make-up again."

Whatever, I decided just to put it on at school. Then, I'd wash it off before I came home. I wasn't a smart enough 13 year old to know that there was black smudges still around my eyes. When my mom came home, she asked me if I wore the black eye liner again. I lied and told her I didn't wear it. She went and got a Q-tip and circled my eyes with the white cotton tip. It turned black and I had black eye boogers. I got smacked with the hair brush and had to turn over my beloved black crayon.

But that paled in comparison to the July day before my eighth grade year. My mom and dad both worked so that left me home alone during summer break. I had rules, I wasn't to leave the neighborhood and only my best friend, Chrissy was allowed to come in our house. Chrissy and I got a phone call from some older high school boys. They wanted us to ride around with them in their parents' van. I would agree only if they took us to McDonald's, I was obsessed with super sized fries. They said we could stop for fries and I told them to meet us at the end of our street. I knew better than to let the nosey neighbors see me get into a van with boys, they'd tell on me.

They pick us up and we head to Mc'Ds. I was happily chowing down on my french fries when I heard a siren behind me. I turn around and a cop is following us , complete with siren blaring and flashing lights!
"Aren't you suppose to pull over?" I naively ask.

But we sped up and the cop is still on our tail. The older boys tell me to shut up. I can't eat my french fries because I sense trouble. A second police car comes flying out of a side street and is chasing us now too. Chrissy and I are screaming stop as we are sailing through a residential area at 55mph. Now we have four cop cars chasing us and I scream,
"If you do not stop, I will jump out of the van!"

The older boy comes to a screeching stop and the two of them jump out of the van. They try to run away but the cops are on them like flies on dog poo. They get clubbed in the dome piece with a night stick and cuffed. Chrissy and I are still sitting in the van holding our french fries, crying our fool heads off. I didn't know if I was going to get beat with the stick or not.

The cops take the boys away and come talk to us. I guess the brain trust boys hit a Porsche at the mall before they picked us up and drove away. It's called hit and run. I told the cop I didn't know anything about it, I just wanted some french fries. He told us we were too young to be hanging out with the bad boys. I told the cops I was sorry and I'd never see them again. I told them thanks for their concern and Chrissy and I would be moving along. We'd just walk home since the van was being impounded. I thought I was brilliant, our parents would never know!

The cop wasn't letting us off that easily though. "Where do you live?"
I assured him not very far away.
"What neighborhood and street?" he quizzed me.
I decided I better not lie and told the truth.
"Lowry Drive? That's over eight miles away. I am going to drive you girls home."

I broke out into the ugly cry, I was going to be driven home in a cop car! The neighbors would have a field day with this information. I had a plan, exit the cop car as quickly as possible. When he pulled up in my driveway, I'd jump out real fast and say "Thanks for the ride!"

When he pulled into the driveway, I couldn't find the handle to open the damn door. I was panicking, where is it? He informed me there was no handle, he had to open the door from the outside. I saw the neighbors looking through the windows as the cop walked me up to the house and invited himself inside. My parents weren't home yet. He left his number and told me my parents were to call him in the morning. If he didn't get a phone call, he'd come back to the house.

I saw my life flash before my eyes. My Mom was going to kill me. I called my oldest sister at work and told her what I did.

"You know Mom is going to really windmill you for this, don't you? You are only 13! You are way too worldly wise for your age. I think they need to send you to Christian school."

No sympathy.

My mom and her windmill. The windmill is when she smacks you repeatedly with both arms flailing. I asked my sister to send her boyfriend over, I needed some moral support when I broke the news to Mom.

I was grounded for the rest of the summer and couldn't hang out with Chrissy again. My sisters' boyfriend did come over when I told mom. It didn't spare me. Mom just had an audience while she windmilled me.

All for fucking super sized fries!?
** I couldn't resist playing Ice Ice Baby. It was the song that was playing on the stereo when we were pulled by the cops. My husband was begging me to remove the song from my blog, he hates it. Vanilla Ice is notorious on this farm. The baby goats dance like Vanilla Ice, the whipper snapping of the head and all. I've always questioned Ice, "Did you really hear shells hitting the pavement?"***

Ten Years Ago

2006-07-30T13:10:00.000-05:00

I realized I have never really written about the one experience that changed me and my life forever. I never really talk about it either. I thought about as time goes by, things get more fuzzy and I start forgetting the small details. Today, after my long run, I decided I'd write them all down.

My parents got a divorce when I turned 17. It was a bad time. It tore our family apart, my Mom was a mess. It was decided that I would move to NC. My Dad bought a home with his girlfriend on a golf course. My Dad worked in DC during the week, he only came home to NC on the weekends. His girlfriend was always around though.

I found a job as a waitress at Don's old restaurant. I finished my junior year. When my senior year of high school started, I started working more hours at the restaurant. I had two honor classes, English and creative writing. Some nights, I would stay up until 2am finishing papers. I thought I was just working very hard and that was the reason I was so tired.

One morning, after a shower, I noticed the left side of my upper body was bigger than my right. Especially my shoulder and armpit area. I thought maybe my left side was just fatter than my right since I am right handed. I did my Cindy Crawford workout more on my left side for a week. It didn't help.

When I was shaving my pits a few weeks later, I saw a lump. When I felt it, I felt many lumps, like a cluster of grapes. I had a bad feeling deep in my gut. I called my Dad and told him I think I need to see a doctor. He called Fort Bragg and I was to go to the Army hospital two days later.

I just saw a GP during that appointment. He drew blood and start feeling my lumps. He called in a nurse and she watched while he checked my breasts. I felt humiliated, warm tears were rolling down my cheeks. Little did I know, this was just the beginning.

It all happened pretty fast after that, the GP was so concerned he wanted me to stay in the hospital over night so the head pediatrician could see me first thing in the morning. The next day, about ten different doctors asked me questions, poked and felt my lumps. They called my Dad at the Pentagon and asked him about my family's history of cancer. Had anyone ever had Hodgkin's Lymphoma? I wasn't shocked because deep down, I had known. I knew the day I felt them when I was shaving.

My oldest sister and mom rushed down to be with me during the biopsy. They had an awful time drawing blood and getting IV's in my arms. My mom was in the room when the nurse was attempting to get the IV in, it was attempt number twelve. My arms were black and blue from blown veins, I looked like a junkie. I started crying, not because the IV attempts hurt so bad but I was mentally scared and tired. My Mom ran out of the room. I could hear her sobbing in the hallway talking to the doctor. Nobody ever wanted to cry with me. They wanted to pretend they were strong and I'd be just fine.

Once the surgeon cut open my armpit, he said "Wow! We've got a lot of good samples here." He told me it didn't look good. The thing about military hospitals is that they don't bullshit. You don't get a lot of bedside manner. If I'd cry, they'd tell me to "steel myself, it would get worse before better". Those doctors helped toughen me up and helped shape a part of me today. I'm more likely to laugh than cry when I'm hurt now. I asked to see the tumors he cut out. They looked like little balls of 80/20 raw hamburger. They were shipped to Bethesda, MD.

Everyone already knew but they wanted the oncologist to officially break the news to me when the results came back. I remember him sitting on the bed and saying "Something has happened that will change your life forever sweetie, you have cancer." He scheduled all sorts of tests; bone marrow biopsy, CT scans, bone scans, blood tests.

The worse test was the bone marrow biopsy. My oncologist had to do it. I got no pain killers or anesthesia. I guess you can't numb a bone anyway. When I saw Dr.C come in with a hand auger/drill, I started to get scared. When he called four soldiers to hold me down on the table, I was terrified. On one side of my hips, Dr.C had to drill through my hip bone down into the marrow for a sample. As he drilled, he said my bones were so hard. It felt like my hip was going to shatter with all the pressure and force.

He'd stick a piece a metal down through the drill to see if he'd hit the marrow yet. When it first started, I was crying, hard. Then, it got to a point of shock and I just made some weird noises. The other side, he chipped a piece of bone off for the sample. When the soldiers released me, I saw tears in Dr.C's eyes. "I'm so sorry, I know how painful that was, it hurt me to do that to you." When I turned around to look at my hips, I noticed it looked like a smiley face. The two holes he drilled in were the eyes and my where my butt cheeks' creased was the mouth. Dr.C laughed hard.

After all the tests were done, I learned I had stage 3. I had lots of tumors in my chest, around my lungs and heart. I decided against letting them cut me open and take samples of my liver, spleen and bladder. I just felt it wasn't necessary. I had cancer, I was going to have chemo so it didn't matter if it was in my liver. I was going to start four chemo drugs, Adriamycin, Bleomycin, Vinblastine and DTIC. The worst of these drugs were the A and B. They cause heart and lung damage. Lance Armstrong refused bleomycin during his treatment due to lung damage. Before chemo started, they had to install a port-a-cath. I needed the port in my chest because my veins were so small and if the chemo leaked out, it would destroy the vein.

The port surgery would be my first surgery ever. I arrived at 7am but there was emergencies and I didn't go into surgery until 1pm. I was so hungry and thirsty but had to go under general anesthesia on an empty stomach. I remember the nurses giving me the gown and instructing me to take off all my clothes. I didn't listen, I left my underwear on. They wheeled me into the operating room, it was cold and full of shiny metal. They put a mask on my face and I only got to number 96.

The next thing I remember, is laying on a gurney flying down the hall. I was very upset and trying to get up. People kept yelling at me to lay down. I looked down at my chest and had a large needle sticking out of it. I couldn't stop crying, anesthesia does that to me, I get hysterical. They told me if I didn't calm down, I wouldn't get to go home. I started doing the snotty, hiccupping, gulping sob because I really wanted to go home. I looked at the clock at it was 6pm. I was in surgery for over five hours? They said it would take two max.

I guess I'm like a horse, they couldn't knock me out. I woke up during surgery and put my hands over my chest, trying to stop them. I broke the sterile environment and they had to start over. They had problems threading the tubing into my jugular vein. Because I'm so small in my chest, it was difficult to anchor the port and pull skin back over it.

The port bothered me a lot during my entire treatment. It felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. I didn't like touching it. I didn't want people hugging me too tight. I could feel the tubing pull when I'd turn my head too far. It was working though, they could draw blood and administer chemo. In the long run, it would save my veins.

I had my treatments every other Monday. It would take about four hours for chemo. First, I'd have a bag of anti-nausea medication, then steroids, then Vinblastine and DTIC. They'd have to push the Adriamycin and Bleomycin in slowly. If you pushed the Adriamycin in too quickly, I could have a heart attack. I could taste the bleomycin and at the end of my chemotherapy treatments, I would gag when I got that drug.

After the first treatment, I had very bad jaw and back pain. I felt like I got hit by a truck. I wasn't vomiting my head off like what I saw in the movies, that would come later. The first treatment, I was a strong 18 year old and my body fought against the poison. My hair started coming out the second round. Mostly in the shower, big handfuls. I had loved to dye my hair. Black, brown, red, blonde it would make my parents so mad. Dr.C was thoroughly impressed because I never lost all my hair. A bit of fuzz always remained, I never got a chrome dome. The hair that remained was striped like a skunk. Each treatment would leave a thin ring, the next week my hair would grow thick again. My family would send me hats, scarves and flowers. I was alone with my dad's girlfriend most of the time.

As the treatments went on, I got weaker. I was very nauseated by cycle three. Dr. C prescribed me a drug called Marinol. Marinol was the shit, it was weed in a pill. They were little round brown pills. I loved Marinol so much but there were days I was really sick. I'd sometimes vomit them up right after I'd swallow them. I'd pick them back out of the bile and swallow them again. They were the only medicine that gave me an appetite. I'd beg people to take me to Sonic after two Marinol pills. I'd get a double cheeseburger, tater tots and a limeade.

I was only supposed have eight cycles. I remember walking into the hospital, thinking this was my last one. I went into Dr. C's office, he told me that the cancer wasn't responding to the chemo like he hoped. He wanted to go to the maximum amount and do a total of 16 treatments. I was so sad that day. A soldier was in the chemo room having a party because it was his last treatment that same day. I gagged and wept, I didn't know if I could handle eight more.

I got to go see my Mom and sisters one week for a vacation. It was hard for people that loved me to look at me at first. I could see the sadness and tears in their eyes. I think being sick was harder on them than it was me. We never really talked about it. Nobody ever talked to me about death and dying. It was easier to pretend death didn't exist. I happily caught crabs and ate them(thanks to Marinol) during that vacation.

I quit my job working as a waitress for Don right when I got sick. He still kept in contact with me and told me as soon as I got better, he wanted me to come back to work. He kept asking me to come into the restaurant to see him. Sometimes, I felt like a freak show. People would ask me if I was a boy or girl. Kids would run away from me. I still remember the day I went and saw Don at the restaurant. He was so happy to see me. He gave me such a big hug, I had to tell him not so hard because he was hurting my port. His eyes filled with tears and was one of the few to cry in front of me. I sometimes think that was the moment I decided he was good enough to be my husband. That didn't happen until four years later, the cradle robber!

How my life had changed. I once was a homecoming princess, now people were confused about my sex. I used to love make-up but with no eyebrows or eyelashes it all looked weird. I used to love to color and style my hair but it was gone. My body had become just a shell. That was the year I learned about who I truly was.

I became strong even though my body had failed me. It humbled me. It taught me not to look only skin deep. It taught me to be thankful for each day. It made me a fighter. All this triathlon talk was started because during my last treatment Dr.C told me two things. First, not to try to have a baby for at least five years. It would be too much for my body to handle. Second, the only thing I couldn't do would be an endurance event due to heart and lung damage. It took me ten years but I proved him wrong.

Today, when I was running in the heat, I didn't complain. I'm alive. I feel the heat. I feel the sweat dripping from my hair into my eyes. I am stronger than I have ever been. My husband can hug me hard without hurting my port. I want to always remember because I think as hard as the cancer was, it made me a better person.

Hellooo McFly

2006-07-30T08:08:00.000-05:00

Last night, right before I was getting ready to go to bed, the phone rang. It was only 9:30pm, I'm getting old. After my bike ride, brick run, cleaning the house and making dinner, I was ready to pass out. Sometimes, I make my husband lie and tell people that I'm sleeping or in the shower. He acted like this phone call was important. I picked up.

"Hello?"
"Hello, Auntie! Going to see you tomorrow?" It was my 3 year old nephew. My sister is racing her first Oly triathlon today in Charlottesville, VA. I had called her in the afternoon to wish her luck but I had only left a message on her answering machine.

"No, buddy. I'm not racing with your Mommy tomorrow. It's her big day though, yell very loud for her, okay?"

My sister gets on the phone and explained that since the Pee-Dee race, her little boy thinks he'll see me at every triathlon. I could hear my 3 yro nephew and 5 yro niece squealing in the background.

"Stop jumping on the bed, lay down and go to sleep!" my sister told them.

I asked her where she was because it was past the kids' bedtime. She got a hotel for the big race, she was in Charlottesville already.

"I had to call you because I knew you'd get a kick out of this one!" she said chuckling. "I did all the packing for me, CB(her husband) and the kids. CB packed the bike and stroller. When we got here and unloaded the car, CB started to panic."

He said, "You wouldn't believe what I forgot! I forgot to put your front tire in the car!"

Oh my God. That's worse than Ookla!

The funniest part of the story is my 5yro niece said, "Daddy, how is Mommy supposed to race without her bike's front tire?"

Good question Meggers, that is why Daddy gets to drive two hours home and two hours back to the hotel to fetch the front tire. My sister was laughing about it. Let's hope the race goes better than the packing for the trip.

At the gym on Friday, I was in the free weight room, doing squats. Some guy comes in the room but isn't paying attention to where he is walking. He walks right into the end of the chest press barbell. He hits it so hard, it throws him backward and he makes a sound like the wind got knocked out of him. "HHHHuuUUUUUHhhhhh"

I couldn't control myself. I started laughing out loud, he could hear me. I was laughing so hard, I could barely get my barbell back on the rack. I wanted to yell out "Hello McFly! That smarted didn't it?"

He ran out of the room too fast though.

The Dumbest Things I'll Ever Say

2006-07-28T05:58:00.000-05:00

To help you laugh your way into the weekend, I'll tell you three short stories.

1. When I was 20, my husband and I were driving to South Carolina. I saw a big, round sign off I-95.

I said, "Honey, what is googaas? Is it some infant and toddler store or something? Like goo-goo-gaa-gaa's?"

My husband could barely contain himself. "You mean Go-Gas?? That would be a gas station sweetie!"

2. Again, my husband and I were in the car. This time driving 1-95 north, going to DC. (I'm going to blame car rides for my lack of brain cells. ) There was an accident, maybe three cars. It was a very bad wreck, one car was crushed. The police, ambulance and fire fighters were at the scene. As we were driving by, I saw a fire fighter with a big piece of equipment.

"Oh NO! Someone really must be hurt honey! That fire fighter has to use the claws of death!"

My observation almost made my husband crash our car. He was laughing so hard, he was crying and couldn't see the road. I didn't know what was so funny until he caught his breath.

"That fireman is holding the Jaws of Life not the Claws of Death!"

I think my name for those giant metal scissors is better. If a fireman ever has to use those things to get me out of a car, I know I just escaped death.

3. One summer afternoon, when I was 14, my sister and I were looking at the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition. We were judging all the hot babes, rating them on our scale. I held up a picture of a beautiful, blonde girl on a beach wearing a silver bikini. I crowned her queen of that edition.

My sister asked, "What's her name? She is very pretty, I think I've seen her on TV before."

I searched the page for her name. "Ummmmm, uhhhhhhhh... I think she's Swiss or something. Her name looks foreign. It says her name is Ookla Freshman."

"What?? No beautiful woman wouldn't have that type of name! She'd change it." My sister snatched the magazine out of my hands to check.

"You are such a fucking retard! It says UCLA freshman!"

I never could live that one down. After that, anytime I ever said something smart-assed to my sister, she'd just say "Whatever, Oookla!" to put me in my place.

The scary thing is, I only have blonde highlights. No telling what I'd say if I was all blonde!

How about sharing the Tri love? Stop by to wish

Miss Jenny

good luck on her very first triathlon this weekend. It's her first open water swim and I'm sending her some good Mojo! Go baby, go go!

The Making of a Sea Hawk

2006-07-27T08:03:00.000-05:00

When my husband and I first moved in together, I was throwing out some letters and pictures. I threw out two little pictures in gold frames of me in my Sea Hawk's swim team suit when I was six. My husband got really upset and dug the pictures out of the trash. He said it was one of his favorite pictures of me when I was young. Ten years ago, I didn't think I'd ever swim again so they didn't mean anything to me. When I saw that picture this morning, sitting in the desk drawer, I was glad my husband made me save it. Because it means something to me today as a triathlete.

Today, I'm thankful to my parents for signing me up for swim lessons when I was four. It means I am thankful for my swim team coach for teaching me how to do free style when I was five. It was really the only sport my sister and I did during the cold, snowy, winters in Germany. I don't remember too much about learning to swim. I do remember the first race I did when I was six, 25 meter free-style. Coach told me I could win if I didn't stop and hold on to the lane line. I swam my little heart out, without stopping and got my first blue ribbon. I smiled real big but was missing my two front teeth.

When we moved to Spain when I was nine, there was no swim team. I'd ride "Sweet Thunder", my pink dirt bike to the pool every summer day. I'd entertain myself by throwing coins in the bottom of the pool and pretending I found secret treasures. For lunch, I'd spend my coins on a Snicker's Bar and Coke. The best summer day at that pool was when I found a $20.00 bill floating at the bottom. I thought I was a millionaire! I was so proud when I brought it home. My mom made me take it back and give it to the lifeguards to put in the lost and found. Nobody claimed the $20.00 after three days so I got to keep it. I bought trivial Pursuit with that money because I wanted my sister to play games with me. I never won that game, it was way over my head. My sister enjoyed playing it with my oldest sister though.

We came home to the US when I was eleven. My parents signed me up for the summer swim team in Virginia. I learned to do flip-turns and butterfly. The kids were really good in Fairfax, most of them were on winter swim leagues. I still would place in my two main events, 50-meter fly and free. In relay's I was always the fly girl. Maybe I was the only kid that didn't look like they were drowning while doing butterfly. Once I turned 14, swimming wasn't interesting or cool anymore. I never swam on a team again.

I was thinking a lot about it while I was doing my 1800 swim last night. I started doing flip-turns again this week. It seems more tiring to do flip turns, maybe from holding your breath. Next year at MAP, the first triathlon I did this year, I want to swim the 500 doing flip-turns. It's been over 15 years since I've raced that way, scary!

Most of all, I am thankful for my parents for making me learn how to swim when I was so young. I truly feel for the triathletes that are just learning how to swim as adults. I'm sure it's very scary to look at a lake and not feel comfortable with your swim skills. Swimming isn't like running or biking. If you don't run or bike well, you won't choke to death. I think swimming is probably the most difficult leg to master. I'm thankful it's been my strongest discipline but I started out as a toofless, baby Sea Hawk many years ago.

Some Funny Pictures From Pee Dee Race

2006-07-26T12:41:00.000-05:00

Before I started farming, I would foster rescued Dobermans. Most of these dogs were gentle and just needed some unconditional love. Once, we got a female named Abby that was hard-core. She wanted through the door first, she would steal other dogs food or toys and she would pee like Monty. Yes, that is right. Abby could lift her leg and piss like a male. If Monty marked a spot, she'd have to pee over it. Like, "Whatever Monty, it really is mine."

When I uploaded this picture, it reminded me of Abby. I look like a dominant bitch marking Falcor. Mine! I swear, I don't have any good pictures of me on the bike.

I seriously would have paid for someone to get a picture of me crashing when I was stuck in the clips. Now that would be funny! My husband was running to the rescue during the crash. He managed to get this picture after he hit me in the dome piece with the aero bars. Notice how my sunglasses are all cattywhompus? At least I can laugh at myself. Hope you do too!

So Long First Place Finishes

2006-07-25T15:02:00.000-05:00

I have decided to finish my first year of triathlon racing with a bust. I have two Olympic races left, Bandit's Challenge and Pinehurst. I wrote the race director a few nights ago and asked if I could be moved from novice to age group. I got a reply this morning that I would be switched over and I'll race my last races in 2006 will be in the real triathlon world.

North Carolina has so many talented, tough, competitive men and women triathletes. Maybe it's because we can train all year due to mild winters. I just know I'm in for an ass kicking racing triathlons in NC until I turn 50. Or until I can have a runner's legs' transplant which will make me faster.

I know some will say, it's not about winning. It was fun to win though. It's my nature and drive to want to win. It gave me a high for a few hours. I saw the pride my family had when they'd call my name for my award. All good things must come to an end. It's time to say so long novice Mojo.

I read this quote by Marian Wright Edelman,
"You're not obligated to win. You're obligated to keep trying to do the best you can every day."

Today, I was feeling tired after lifting weights and doing the elliptical at the gym with my Mom. When she left, I seriously considered leaving and not doing my 1700 yard swim. I knew I wouldn't be doing the best thing if I ditched the swim, I'd just be cheating myself. I went and put my swim suit on and jumped in the water.

I had to do 10 x 100 sprints/60 second rest. Around number eight, I thought again about quitting and starting the cool down. I know all those age group winners complete their workouts, you can't win by slacking on workouts. I sucked it up and did an extra 100 for good measure. If I ever want to place in age group, I'll have to trainer harder, become faster and mentally stronger.

I do have doubts though when I look at the top women's run times. I am highly skeptical I could ever keep a 7:30 5k pace, no matter how much I train. I look back at myself this time last year, I couldn't run one mile without stopping to walk. I couldn't swim 100 meters without gasping for breath at the wall. I didn't even own a bike. Maybe my short, slow twitch legs will surprise me. Maybe they'll be able to carry me through a 21 minute 5k this time next year. I love a challenge, so I keep trying until I succeed.

Try It, You'll Like It!

2006-07-24T15:08:00.000-05:00

Since I had been on vacation for a week, I had culinary withdrawal. I found some recipes yesterday morning for a Mexican fiesta feast. The recipes looked so scrumpdiddlydumpcious, I'll share them with my fellow bloggers. Maybe you'll also appreciate how long it took me to prepare three dishes.

Mexican Taqueria style Carne Asada Tacos

3 pounds flank steak
1/3 cup white vinegar
1/2 cup soy sauce
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 limes, juiced
1/2 cup olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon ground white pepper
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon paprika

1 white onion, chopped
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 lime, juiced

2 large tomatoes, chopped
2 jalapeno peppers, chopped
1 white onion, quartered
4 cloves garlic, peeled
2 dried New Mexico chile pods
1 pinch salt and pepper to taste

1 (32 ounce) package corn tortillas
2 cups grated cotija cheese (optional)
2 limes, cut into wedges

DIRECTIONS:
Lay the flank steak in a large glass baking dish. In a medium bowl, whisk together the vinegar, soy sauce, 4 cloves of garlic, juice of two limes, and olive oil. Season with salt, black pepper, white pepper, garlic powder, chili powder, oregano, cumin and paprika. Whisk until well blended, then pour over the steak in the dish. Turn over once to coat both sides. Cover with plastic wrap, and marinate for 1 to 8 hours.

In a small bowl, stir together 1 chopped white onion, cilantro, and the juice of 1 lime. Set aside to use as a relish for the tacos.

Heat a skillet over medium-high heat. Toast chile pods in the skillet for a few minutes, then remove to a bowl of water to soak for about 30 minutes. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F (230 degrees C).

Place the tomatoes, 1 onion, jalapenos, and 4 cloves of garlic onto a baking sheet. Roast in the oven for about 20 minutes, until toasted but not burnt. Place the roasted vegetables, and soaked chile pods into a blender or food processor, along with salt and pepper. Puree until smooth.
Heat vegetable oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Cut the marinated flank steak into cubes or strips. Cook, stirring constantly, until the meat is cooked through and most of the liquid has evaporated.

Warm the tortillas in a skillet for about a minute on each side to make them pliable. Tortillas may also be warmed in a microwave oven. Arrange two or three tortillas on a plate, and lay a generous amount of beef over them. Top with a sprinkle of the onion relish and a large spoonful of the pureed salsa. Add as much cheese as you like. Garnish with lime wedges, and serve.

Mexican Rice

1 cup long grain white rice
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 1/2 cups chicken broth
1/2 onion, finely chopped
1/2 green bell pepper, finely chopped
1 fresh jalapeno pepper, chopped
1 tomato, seeded and chopped
1 cube chicken bouillon
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 clove garlic, halved

DIRECTIONS:
In a medium sauce pan, cook rice in oil over medium heat for about 3 minutes. Pour in chicken broth, and bring to a boil. Stir in onion, green pepper, jalapeno, and diced tomato. Season with bouillon cube, salt and pepper, cumin, cilantro, and garlic. Bring to a boil, cover, and reduce heat to low. Cook for 20 minutes.

Drunken Beans

1 pound dried pinto beans, washed
2 quarts chicken stock
1 tablespoon salt
1/2 tablespoon ground black pepper
1 (12 fluid ounce) can or bottle dark beer
2 (14.5 ounce) cans chopped stewed tomatoes
1 white onion, diced
1/4 cup pickled jalapeno peppers
6 cloves garlic, chopped
3 bay leaves
1 1/2 tablespoons dried oregano
1 1/2 cups chopped fresh cilantro

DIRECTIONS:

Soak beans in a large pot of water overnight.
Drain beans, and refill the pot with chicken stock and enough water to cover the beans with 2 inches of liquid. Season with salt and pepper. Cover, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover, and cook for 1 1/2 hours. Stir the beans occasionally through out the entire cooking process to make sure they do not burn or stick to the bottom of the pot.
Stir beer, tomatoes, onion, jalapeno peppers, garlic, bay leaves, oregano, and cilantro into the beans. Continue to cook uncovered for 1 hour, or until beans are tender.
With a potato masher, crush the beans slightly to thicken the bean liquid. Adjust the seasonings with salt and pepper to taste.

With my shopping list made out, I headed to the park for an 11 mile run. After the run, I planned to go grocery shopping. Since we live 15 miles from town, I try to train/go to the gym and then run errands to save gas.

Yesterday was a wonderful day for a long run. It was cloudy and although it was humid, the high didn't reach 90 degrees. It seemed cool after last week's highs of 100. It was looking like rain and around mile 9, it starting to fall from the sky. I was determined to finish my run so I ran in the rain. It felt good because I was hot and sweaty, I felt like a kid running in a sprinkler. I didn't give it a second thought until I got into the van and saw my shopping list.

I was soaked. I looked like a drowned rat with two dreadlocks. When I run with my headphones on, my hair somehow gets all tangled around the headphone sides to form to dreadlocks above my ears. I looked in the rear view mirror and I had little gnats suck on my face, arms and chest. My top was dripping, thank God it wasn't white. My running shorts looked like they were glued to me. I was a sight to behold and my gym bag contain a dreadlock detangler and dry clothes was at home. I had a good idea though. My husband got off work around this time. If he was driving home, maybe he'd give me the shirt off his back.

I called my husband at work. No answer. I called his cell phone. Still no answer. I called home and Snaggle answered.

"Hey Snag. Is your Dad home?"

"No why?"

"Because I ran my last two miles in the rain, I'm soaked and need to go to the grocery store."

"Why can't you go to the grocery store if you were rained on?" Snaggle asked

"Because when I have to walk through the produce and frozen food section, I'll have major THO. My shorts are stuck to my thighs. I have gnats covering me like freckles. I look like a homeless person that ran to the store in the rain because I can't afford a cab. I was going to see if your Dad would let me borrow his shirt if he was on his way home."

Snaggle thought I was funny. I decided to head to the Hispanic grocery store with dripping wet clothes. I pretended like I was on Supermarket Sweep, I have never ran through a grocery store so fast in my entire life. I tried to keep my purse close to my chest when I passed the chilly sections.

I came home, stripped off my clothes and started to prepare my fiesta. I chopped lots of onions, tomatoes, peppers and cilantro. I grilled the beef I had marinated for hours. I made homemade salsa, I even had to break out the blender. I made a simple box of Betty Crocker brownies for dessert.

I assembled the meal that was a labor of love. Warm tortillas, filled with beef. I even brought the true Mexican cheese, cotija. I called my husband in to admire my creation.

"Is it spicy?" were the first words out of his mouth.

I cut the jalepenos in half because my husband is a spice sissy. I love hot and spicy food. Maybe because I was born in the year of the dragon, I don't know. When I go to the Thai place they always ask "How Hot?". I tell them I like very hot food. They always like to make sure by asking "Fire hot?" Yeah, sure, make me a fire breathing dragon.

Once after my fire hot Thai dinner, I gave my husband a wet, sloppy kiss. He acted like I killed him. He was running around screaming his mouth was burning, his eyes were watering. He drank a gallon of water and was still whimpering like I'd blistered his mouth. You understand about him being a spice sissy now, right?

He took a bite of the rice and beans I'd slaved over and spit it out like I'd poisoned him. He refused to eat anything except the beef. Same with Snaggle. All that work and preparation and I was the only one that would eat it. Fine, I packed some up for bike shop friends that aren't afraid of hotness.

Remember those Betty Crocker brownies that took me five minutes to prepare? This is what I found when I woke up this morning.

They almost ate them all but wouldn't touch my food with a ten foot pole. I think I need to be less complicated. Stop thinking outside the box.

Tri The Pee-Dee Race Report

2006-07-21T15:57:00.000-05:00

Did you miss me and my endless blog of blabber? I decided to stay at the beach house for an extra two days. I didn't train too much but ate and drank to make up for it. It was a lot of fun but I'm ready to get back to real life and training.

I was gone from the farm for a week,and most of the animals survived. A few baby chicks got out and were eaten by a 'coon or other violent predator. The goat-sitter hates me because it took her over 3 hours to catch Maple to milk her one morning. My dairy goats are funny that way. They only want me to squeeze their teats.

The race was an adventure. I'm not sure what it is about the bike portions of the Tri races in South Carolina. This was the second I have done, the first was Cheraw. Both have some bad biking surfaces for tri- bikes. I brought Falcor because I know the low country is flat, I wanted to really fly with him. When we drove to the race site after packet pick-up, I thought it was a joke. The first mile out and back was a sand road. It was the beach !(I could build a sand castle in this shit) The lake was clear and beautiful, my sister was really excited about it. I think we raced on someone's private property. They had a beautiful, large white house. Most all of the races in NC have good bike courses. I'm not sure why it varies so much state to state.

My Mom, sister and I arrived around 7am. We decided to try riding down the sand road pre-race. It was difficult, especially if you hit the thick sand. Falcor acted real squirrelly in the sand. I was worried about Val in the sand with her new bike and clips. I knew I wouldn't be riding very fast for the first and last mile. My husband arrived after our pre-race sand ride. He's so sweet, he woke up at 4:30am and drove to SC to see me race. He's my biggest fan, I tell you!

Val bought me the new tri suit I was wearing for this race. I told her I didn't want a one piece because I think they are difficult to take off. When we stood in the line for the port-a-potty's, I started getting nervous. I hate getting into those portable pee and poop cubicles. I am always drawn into peering down into the port-a-potty hole of feces. Yes, yes, I know I shouldn't look. I just can't help myself. Then, I'll start dry heaving as I stare at the different colored and shaped turds, it's like a train wreck. I come out of the port-a-potty's with a red face and watery eyes from gagging. I got out of my pothole and Val was still in line.

"Did you pee or poop? You pooped that fast?" she inquired as she passed me.

"Hell ya! I can't waste anytime in that environment, the gagging wears me out."

I asked Val if it was hard to keep her zip-up one piece tri-suit from touching the poop germs on the port-a-potty floor. She told me to "Shut-up!" and we went to get ready for the swim.

Of all the events, the swim was the leg I feared the most while racing against my sister. She has always been a great swimmer. She swam in high school. My goal was to keep her in sight during the swim. I'd try to make up time on the bike.

The novice men and women started together. The men seemed pretty aggressive this race start. It's been the first time I was punched, kicked and swam on top of during a race start. Women just aren't as violent. I have been know to stop during the swim and say "sorry" when I smack someone.

Val and I ran into the water together but I decided not to be abused and let people pummel me. I dropped back and went to the inside left. About 200 yards into the race, the Mark Spitz novice men triathletes' that were caving my dome in the first 25 meters were now doing the breast stroke. "All that pounding I received for nothing," I thought as I passed them. After dodging them, I could spot Val ahead of me in her new purple tri suit.

I came out of the water one second behind Val with a swim split of 13:38 for 700 meters. You can see me running up that bank right on her skinny booty. I know she made me swim harder than I probably ever had during a race. She also made me have super fast transitions. T1 was 1:05.

I was out of the transition area on the bike before Val. She said she could see me for the first mile, down the sand dune alley. Once I made the turn to pavement and got into my aero bars, she lost me.

I felt really good on the bike course and I tried to keep my Cats-eye at 20mph during the race. Beside the sand road, the course was fast and flat, Falcor was really flying!

When I rode into the transition area, I was feeling happy and confident. Approaching the dismount line, I tried to un-clip but I was stuck. I tried again and nothing, I was locked in. I starting to get scared and was searching the crowd for my husband.

"Honey, Help Me, Help Me, I'm stuck in my clips." I yelled and nobody came.

Volunteers and spectators were yelling, "Dismount! Dismount! Stop! The transition area is over here!"

I was running out of sand dune road and was about to take down the flags for the run course. I yelled out to anyone, someone, everyone,
"HELP ME! I AM STUCK IN MY CLIPS! CAN SOMEONE GRAB MY BIKE TO HELP ME STOP?"

I felt like everything was happening in slow motion. Everyone was staring but not moving. I knew I was going to go down, I decided against taking out the run course flags at that moment. I braked, Falcor and I went falling to our right sides. I had my first crash during a race, in front of a lot of people. Once I did finally fall, a woman runs over and tries to help. Better late than never, I guess.

My feet were still stuck in the clips after the crash. The lady is asking what to do when my husband come sliding to my rescue like a short-stop ball player. I think he almost shoved the poor woman to the side. It all happened real fast during those moments. He unstrapped my foot out of my shoe, yanks the bike up, hits me in the head with the handle bars and tells me to hurry. I run into T2 with one shoe on and one shoe off. The right side of my body was coated in sand because I was so sweaty when I fell. The temperature was 97 in Florence on Saturday. My knee burned but I had my best transition time ever, T2- 0:43 I found out later that sand had gotten wedged in my clips and locked my pedals to my clips.

My bike and humiliating crash(Poor Falcor, he wanted to disown me for tarnishing his reputation) time: 49:38

By the time I got to the run, I was roasting and feeling a little battered. It was three loops on the sand around the lake. It helped that I could pace myself by running laps but my run time was still poor. I never feel fast in the heat, I feel like my face is on fire, my blood is boiling and I'll blow a valve. My track workouts don't seem to be helping. Run time : 25:45

My final time- 1:30:48
Val's final time- 1:35:11

We came in first and second novice! How cool is that? We couldn't ask for a better race. We won these caps! They are the nice mesh material, they have 1st and 2nd sewn into the sides.

My sister is good though, the bike and transitions saved me. She doesn't have as much time to train as I do but if she finds a babysitter, she'll kick my ass!

Chubby Chaffed Thigh and Carton of Kitties

2006-07-13T15:07:00.000-05:00

Yesterday night, I did a track workout. Ever since I started these track workouts and running faster, I have had chafing issues. Maybe my inner thigh fat doesn't like to jiggle faster than 8 minute miles. It's only on my left thigh. Can my left thigh be fatter than my right? I felt the seam of my shorts rubbing it last night but I kept running. I looked at my inner thigh when I was done and it was bleeding.

When I got home I thought I should use a Noxema face pad to cleanse the wound. Bad choice, because then I had a burning, raw left thigh. I saw flames. I need to go to some thrift shops and find some spandex shorts or something. Maybe I should be like fat bottomed girl and run in my bikini.

I sleep on my side and this morning when I woke up, my thighs were stuck together. The chafing was oozing during the night and acted like glue. When I went to run errands today, I wore jean shorts. I ended up walking around like I had poo-poo pants because the jeans were rubbing my chubby thigh. My husband came home from work while I was cleaning house and found me wearing this outfit.

He was hysterical. I found a pair of his silk boxers to wear but they kept falling down. Since I am a genius, I used a hair elastic to tighten them around my waist. They are the most comfortable shorts I have worn in days!

Well, I better finish packing. My Mom and I are leaving for the race in SC tomorrow. We'll meet my sister in Florence. After the race, we are all heading to Pawley's Island, SC for a beach vacation. I'll be back with a race report Wednesday. Have a great weekend!

I'll miss the pussy boys, they are lots of fun now!

My Sister is Supposed to Love Me, Not Beat Me!

2006-07-12T19:50:00.000-05:00

I've spent Monday and Tuesday with my sister. We went on bike rides both days. The first day, we rode in my Mom's gated golf community. I wanted my sister to get comfortable in her clips and new shoes, without dogs and speeding rednecks with big wheel pick-up trucks. I didn't want her to fall and hurt herself. I was showing sisterly love.

Yesterday, we went on a ride in my neighborhood. I live in the couuuuntry! I warned her about the dogs. I told her to just stop and unclip right away if a dogs comes after us. We drive down my road and I warn her about this little Jacked-UP Russell Terror about 500 yards ahead. He comes yipping out and chasing Val's rear tire. I scream, "NOOOO! You little fuckin' BASTARD! NOOOO!"

Val was cracking up. Everyone that rides with me knows I will colorfully yell at the dogs. Most of the time it works. I try to sound like a crazed drill instructor. I was protecting my sister.

Do you know what my sister told me last night while we ate at my favorite Mexican restaurant? That she is competitive and wants to beat me, she tries to beat her husband too. She is excited to race and will probably be so nervous she won't sleep much Friday night. Then I remembered, the entire time we had been riding the last two days, she had been glued to my rear tire.

I'm starting to get concerned. This was the same sister that would hold pillows over my face and I'd have a suffocation melt down. She would hold my legs behind my head like I was pretzel girl. It would make my lungs feel collapsed and I couldn't breathe. (ahhh..sisterly love!!)

I could never physically give my sister a whomping so I would come up with mental punishment. Like the few months the Jehovah Witness would come to our house. I would answer the door and tell them my sister had been waiting for them, have a seat in the living room. Then I'd call down to her room, "Val your friends are here to see you!" She would have to spend at least 15 minutes with them if I had them seated.
She would pummel me for that shit!

Oh yeah, this is the first race my Mom will be attending too. Maybe with all this sibling rivalry, I'll make some personal records. We shall see, we shall see.

Surprise! Surprise!

2006-07-10T17:37:00.000-05:00

I have been holding out for almost two months on a big surprise! I deserve a reward.. I shocked myself because I have a big mouth. I talked my Mom into buying a tri bike for my sister Val.(Don and I bought the Cat's Eye and water bottles) My Mom deserves major props for her generous nature!

My sister did her last tri with a bike from 1996, no clips. She came in 5th place age group in the Lurray, VA Tri a few months ago. I know she'll rock with this new Fuji Aloha. She has natural talent, I know it!

My sister is a wonderful person. She decided to quit her job to stay at home with her kids. You can tell because they mind well, you can take them to fancy restaurants! We went to Brasa last night after we picked them up at the train station in Raleigh. Her kids happily peeled and dined on shrimp.

She doesn't expect things and makes sacrifices. She's a giving person, she's decided to be with her kids and go back to work when her little boy enters school. She thought my Mom and I were buying her only shoes and clips for her old Trek Fast Trac. Little did she know. She was afraid to take the bike outside to try the clips/shoes because she didn't want to wreck and scratch it.

When my Mom said "Happy Birthday! This is your bike!", my sister broke into tears. It was a beautiful moment I will always remember. The moment with emotional overload takes someone over, I love it! (Thanks to bike shop friends for helping make it happen)

There are moments in life you will never forget. Today was one of those days. Her face when she realized it was hers and the reaction. Knowing that she feels like she deserves that bike. I swear, almost everyone in the bike shop was crying. I am so happy for her but I hope she doesn't beat me this weekend. She kept on my tail the entire time we rode this afternoon. We are doing our first tri together in SC this Saturday! How cool is that? :)

Oh yeah, I love my Mom. How can you resist a green M&M with long eyelashes?

Full of Sweat and Stink Now

2006-07-07T18:19:00.001-05:00

I got home from vacation and tackled some farm chores. I did the 50k Firecracker ride in Cary and didn't wreck. I did a track workout in cotton shorts and got inner thigh chafing.

I cleaned out the baby chick pens.
I got lots of dust up my schnoze.

Then,I decided we should tackle the goat barn. Because the flies are as thick as thugs. The fly population is inconceivable this year. I think our winter was too warm. At that bike race in Cary, there were flies on the cookies. I didn't feel so bad, even Cary has flies.

I don't know which idiot said goats will eat anything, they don't know the goaties!
They are picky, stubborn animals!Our goats will not eat "dirty" hay that touches the ground and is stepped on. This leads to a 20 tractor bucket loads of wasted hay in a few months.

We scooped and cleaned up crap today but we accomplished a dirty, back muscle building job.
It was a cooler and it was much easier to do it without dying from heat stroke. Dumbass me weight trained my biceps and back today though. I'll pay tomorrow.

My goats are extremely wasteful. I think I need to send them to a starving, 3rd world country. After one hour of a full rack of hay, this is what is left. They only eat the tops of the oats, and leave the stems on the ground to build up over time....then WE have to scoop it up pitch it!

I feel like I clean and feed the humans' and beasts' all time. I think I would make an excellent maid. I could get paid a lot for this if I went full time. I can deal with the never-ending cleaning and feeding battle.

I have this awful thigh chafing though. Is it because I ate too much ice-cream during my vacation?

The warm fuzzy I had this week..
I made Chai tea soap for this lady.It has been curing for about 4 weeks. I called her today to tell her it was ready. She was so excited, it is her favorite soap. She came over right away and bought the whole log!
70 dollars worth.

I didn't have to print or wrap anything!

I'm back.... And full of Piss and Vinegar

2006-07-03T19:51:00.000-05:00

I had a great weekend! It was the first time the family has been together for long time. Since the oldest boys have been in the Marines, it's harder and harder to get good family pictures. Most of all, we had good times and made lasting memories.

I watched people struggle with water sports. Then conquer and get up with smiling faces. They'd climb up the ladder with pride. I laughed a lot, especially on the boat. I ate wonderful food and was well fed by my mother in law. I didn't train and it didn't kill me. I got my hair done today by Becky and I look like a baby T-Rex. I missed my animals, my home and my rountine(In that order). Waking up at 6am to bike in the morning doesn't sound as fun tonight. I have to decide by 8am if I want to do the 50 or 100k "Firecracker" ride in Cary tomorrow morning...

Some slide-show highlights..
Nick and Joy catching air in the tube, these two were tough! They were the best tube riders.
Nick's face right before crashing on the kneeboard.
Lucy's life vest's straps.
Snaggles scissor legs while mounting the knee board.
Monty pouting and refusing to look at the camera because I went
on vacation for a few days.

Fun times, I tell you.

Upload photos at Bolt.

Farm Pit Stop

2006-07-02T09:54:00.000-05:00

We went to White Lake on Friday morning for a mini vacation. We had to come home this morning. I had to milk the goats (I'm trying to dry them off) and Don had some business. We are going to back to the lake in about an hour until Monday night.

Just you wait my little pretty's. I am going to have some good pictures of a southern campground. It's beer, golf cart and confederate flag city. They can even line dance to rap music!

I am a knee boarding natural. I may struggle with water skiing but so far, I am the only one that can knee board. Not even my coach of a husband! :) He has been calling me "hotdog" because I'm now doing turns and jumping over the boats' wake.

I did swim in the lake but haven't run or biked for two days. I guess there is more to life other than training. I'm trying to learn how to relax.

Hope you have a great 4th Of July, full of laughs, food and fireworks!

I'm In Love With These Pussy's

2006-06-28T20:42:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling better after my track workout. Maybe I needed to work up a really big sweat. I did 5x800 w/2 min rest. My 800's were around 3:46-3:50.

I probably caught your attention with the title, it's another "momism". My mom will call kittens "Pussy Boys". In our family, we talk to our animals in a high pitched squeaky voice. On Monday, I met my mom at the gym. She is trying to lose some weight. I try to help by meeting her there on Monday's and Friday's and doing the elliptical with her for 30min. On Monday morning, after our workout, she was going to come over and see the kittens. She got all excited about it because she loves cats. She screeched out in her squeaky animal voice, "Pussy Boys! Pussy Boys! I can't wait to see the Pussy Boys!". Ummmmm, Mom? Let's not yell about pussy in the gym, okay? All the cardiac rehab patients are looking at you!

I'm know I've grown to be like my Mom and I love her dearly. I screech out in the animal voice(But the G rated version), "Come here you little kitties!" when I walk into the closet. That's were the box is and Mrs. Kitty wants them to stay there inside their crib. They want to explore.

They scream at me to take them out. I listen and take them all out, they enjoy crawling around and you can watch different personalities form. Mrs. Kitty probably wants to puncture my retina with her claws. She probably feels like she's going to have brain overload trying to watch five babies. When she's had enough, she'll try to carry them back to the box. I'll pick them up and return them to the box in the closet. You can see her in the next picture still in the box wondering why all of her babies are out roaming around.

Cracking Under Pressure

2006-06-28T16:29:00.000-05:00

Can someone spare some happy pills? I've been in some kind of funk ever since Sunday's race and I can't seem to snap out of it. I almost started breaking dishes when I woke up this morning and had no milk for coffee. Melt-down city. I don't want to talk to people and they probably don't want to be near the she-devil either.

I wonder if I have been training too hard. I'm going to cut back on the weight lifting. I think I may be physically tired all the time. I took yesterday off and rented The Million Dollar Baby. It was a good movie.

I swam this afternoon, first time since the race. I wanted to time myself to make sure it doesn't really take me 10:30 to swim 375. I swam 100's in 1:30 but it didn't lift the dark cloud following me around. I have a track workout tonight. Maybe if I get the endorphins really pumping I'm be back to my normal self. Pray for my husband, okay?

Kure Beach Split times

2006-06-27T07:52:00.000-05:00

There are no secrets to success. It is the result of preparation, hard work, and learning from failure.-- Colin Powell

This race really has played head games with me. It's left me with shaken confidence and feelings of self doubt. It's ironic because I was looking forward to this race and I thought it would be fun. I thought if any race of the season would shake me, it would be the Half at White Lake.

I guess what really bothers me is I felt like I went in prepared, I have been working hard. My times don't reflect those training hours. I'm so disappointed with my swim, I am ashamed to post the time. I guess I must learn something from this failure but I'm not sure what the lesson is yet. Right now, I don't even feel like training.

Swim 1-(375 meters) 10:02 47/85 overall
I really don't want to talk about it.

Run 1 including transition (1.5 miles) 16:02 41/85 overall
I don't know what to say again except I think I could walk faster but I was actually running.

Bike(20K) 34:21 16/85 overall
If my bike time had been bad, I may have sold Falcor. I couldn't stand the thought of tarnishing his reputation. My actual time was probably even faster since it includes the transition.

Run 2 (1.5 miles) 15:42 32/85 overall
I really felt like I was running.

Swim 2 (375 meters) 10:30 51/85 overall
Did I tell you about the cabana boy that brought me a Pina Colada while I was floating on my raft?

Kure Beach Race Report

2006-06-25T17:05:00.000-05:00

The morning started at 5:15 am from a knock on the door from
Freeze! A group of tri-friends stayed at her parents house at the beach for this race. Jessica's mom was very sweet and saintly and made a wonderfully tasty lasagna dinner. Her Dad was very calm and cool, her entire family was great! Her parents have a nice spread on a golf course! That's southern talk for a very beautiful home, it looked all "interior decorated" and perfect. No vomit stained carpets or animal fur to be found. (like our farm house!)

When I woke up, I realized my period had come. Last month it came Wood Lake race morning, then again today. Can't I get a break? I'm freaking fertile myrtle or something. I'm not in any serious pain. It just makes me more dull, quiet, agitated and more hungry. Meg told me this morning that I was acting nonchalant, I probably do act differently during this time of the month. I sipped my coffee and looked at the beautiful window treatments while other's chatted about the race and ate breakfast.

Don asked me if I was excited about the race this morning.

I said, "Guess so, it will be a new experience; swimming in the ocean and all.(Little did I know I would almost aspirate ocean water in about 3 hours from this statement) Could we please go to the gourmet fudge shop in Wilmington after the race?"

You do not know how much I love this chocolate place. It's called
scrumdiddlydumciousness, you can watch them make the fudge. I must go every time we are around Wilington. Kilman's

He informed me my mind wasn't focusing in the right direction, I would be racing in 2 hours! I need to focus on racing! Like I didn't already know, honey? I had been talking to my other tri friends about this chocolate factory last night. I wanted to stuff myself with the yummy lasagna last night but I didn't want any problems this morning from gorging on goodness. He thinks he's the smartest coach in the world. His award for me winning novice would be $40.00 to spend at the scrumdiddlydumcious store. Now you're talkin'! :)

He took a smiley picture of me with my tri friends after that news.

Then, I started to focus on actually swimming in the ocean. Start time was about to blow for the elites. I watch this boat struggling to put out the buoys. It looked like a toy boat bouncing around on the waves ( It actually was a 50 ft Coast Guard Cutter!). I watch the buoys come crashing back to shore. I started paying attention and heard strangers talking about the rough surf conditions. I thought maybe I should stop thinking about chocolate.

I start listening carefully to directions:
The coast guard cutter can't get the buoys anchored because the waves are pushing 10 feet high. You can choose to do a dualathon, but you will not be awarded points. The lifeguards were going to take the buoys out on surfboards, and hold them in place for the entire race!15 lifeguards total.(The life guards deserve major props for all their hard work!) Race director says to start far to the right of the first buoy because the north pushing current was so strong .

Elites.. 15 seconds.. Beeeeepp!

I watched the elites sprint into the surf far, far right of the first buoy. Some decided to try to cut toward it too fast and got pulled left of the buoy. The elites looked like they were fighting and struggling, the finesse had be forgotten. I saw a few turn around. I saw more and more caps turning around after fighting with the waves for a few minutes-pink, blue, green, yellow and then me. White egghead-

that is naively smiling because I'm still blissfully unaware about trying to swim out in the ocean with waves being push by high surf.

I decided after I watched so many others' quit and come in that I would not turn around and look back at shore. Once you did this, it seemed you were done. Off I went, promising not to look back even if it took an hour to swim 375 yards.

First, I am thankful I wore my goggles under my cap. They would have gotten bitch slapped off my face for sure. I am thankful I don't panic easily. At times, I was afraid of the waves crashing on top of me and crushing me. I felt so out of touch with the "Little Mermaid" feeling I thought I might have had. I was delusion to think ocean swimming was so fun. I felt like I was making no progress trying to swim out to the first buoy. I would swim so hard and kept getting sucked toward shore. It was 2 strokes forward, 8 back. The breakers were almost impossible to get beyond.

I'd try to go under the waves and they'll pull me under. I started way too far right of the buoy but I saw so many people getting sucked away, I played it safe. Once you got out and swam parallel to shore, you felt like Speed Racer. I swam too far past the last buoy and did not make my left turn toward shore. The lifeguards were screaming at me, "Turn. Turn! TURN!!!"
Because I was "One" with the current, I felt like zooming and got carried away. (little did I know that about 20 yards past the last bouy was a dangerous rip current!)

The turn back to shore was humbling, you'll get the shit knocked out of you. I saw a man in front of me panicking and screaming during the second swim leg. I have never heard someone scream, "Help, I am going to drown!"

I saw and heard him because moments before, I almost aspirated ocean water. So, I started treading water because a wave had hit me so hard, I became disoriented with up and down. Then, another wave it me. I thought I would suck salt water down my lungs because I needed to breathe. I stopped thinking about chocolate.

This race was all about the swim for me- that is all I pretty much remember right now. I will update more when the splits are posted. I'm not thrilled with my time. I came in first novice and got the chocolate but thought I would be faster. I feel like I trained hard. I think it was the ocean but it will be interesting to see. Was my ocean swim bad or did it shake me so much I couldn't recover on the other legs? I really hope I don't suck goat balls on the bike.. I have Falcor and I'm blessed to own him. I want to rate owning him!

Oh yeah, on the run the photographer dude told me I had big teeth.
Better to eat you with dude! I made this picture extra large so you can see them if you read my blog. Chomp! Chomp!

Today, was the first time I felt like I had to fight to live for a long time. I didn't quit because I chose not to look back.

Soap Logs, Track Workouts and the Karate Kid

2006-06-23T06:50:00.000-05:00

I had a productive week. I got up on the water skis three times. I made three, eight pound logs of soap- Sexy Thing, Lychee Fruit and Chai Tea.

I got in some tough workouts, including a track workout. The track workouts are hard but I hear it's the only way to get faster. We did 8x400 w/60 second rest, 60 seconds goes by very quickly. During the 6th and 7th 400's, I finally got that "I'm running so hard I may vomit feeling." I've always wondered about people that cross the finish line and barf. My husband said that if I didn't get that feeling, I'm not trying hard enough. I finally got that feeling Wednesday night. I was whipped because I'd just swam 2,000 yards and lifted before the track work, it probably wasn't the smartest idea. I got all my weight lifting done by Wednesday so my muscles could recover for the race Sunday.

When I was driving home from the track on Wednesday night, a car was stopped on the road we live on. I slowed down, there were about five people standing in the road too. Then I see the dog. I have seen this dog and his gang on our road before, I vividly remember him. I remembered him because he and his homies were chowing down on roadkill one day when I passed them. My windows were rolled down and they had stirred up the rotten remains. The smell was so awful, I was gagging. I started thinking about these dogs and how hungry they must be to eat something so putrid. I also thought about having to bathe a dog that consumed that rotten carcass, you'd have to use bleach or something. I have spoiled Monty, he spazes out if his paw is dirty and will obsessively lick it until it's raw.

The dog was laying in the road because he'd been hit by a car. The woman that hit him was talking to some boys asking about his owner. I rolled down my window and asked if they needed my help. They told me they had it under control and were locating his owner. Then, I looked at the dog. It had pooped, probably from pain and fear. It had blood coming from its nose but his pretty brown eyes were blinking at me. He was still breathing. His other two dog pals were standing on the side of the road watching.

I wanted to stop the van, get out and hold the dog while he was dying. I know it sounds weird but I have this strong desire to be with people and animals while they die. I don't want anyone to die alone, without someone there to hold there hand, pet their head or kiss their face. My husband can't stand to watch death, he can't be there and I understand. It's a hard thing to deal with but I know I don't want to die alone. I didn't know this dog well enough and sometimes when animals are in pain or scared they'll lash out and bite. I decided not to stop because I was hot, tired, sad and thought the people had it under control.

When I drove to the gym the next day, I see the dog on the side of the road stiff with rigor mortis. Flies were swarming his lifeless body. I felt really shitty. I should have stopped last night. I should have at least sat with him and talked to him kindly while he died. He was treated like a piece of garbage during his short life and I could have made his last moments a little more pleasant. His owner didn't even care to bury him. He was abandoned like a piece of trash on the side of the road. I felt awful knowing he never really knew love during his life. I hope he's in some doggy heaven getting a nice bath and eating juicy t-bone steaks.

Onto more pleasant subjects. I got the fuzz on the back of my neck trimmed the other day at the El Cheapo salon. It only costs $3.00 for a neck trim at this place. It was some young dude's turn to cut my hair, he looked like he just got out of high school. I didn't worry too much because he just had to cut a straight line across my neck. He put that cape on me, wet my neck and took a snip. After his takes a snip, he starts flipping the scissors around in his hand. Kind of like Karate Kid with nunchakus.

After each snip, he would whip his scissors around. I got a little scared when he hit my shoulder with the handle while doing his karate moves. I was like, "Easy there, killer!" Little did I know...

I hand him his $5.00 for my 3 minute haircut while vowing I'd never have him cut my bangs. I might lose an eye or something. When he put his arm out for the money, his arm poked out of his sleeve. This kid was a "Cutter." Snaggle told me about these types of kids. They enjoy cutting themselves. He had about 60 slashes on his arm. I know the difference between a cat scratch and "I use a razor and carve designs in my flesh." And I thought that running with scissors was dangerous!

I'm A Water Skiing Challenged Fool

2006-06-20T19:18:00.000-05:00

I got up today, three times. I lasted only about 45 seconds tops, standing. But that is not the point. The point is, I have a handicap when it comes to water skiing. I'm not good at it and when I do succeed, it looks painful and uncoordinated.

My husband is trying to be nice and coach me. He keeps telling me to keep my legs together(one of the few times those words spill from his tongue), stay down like I'm squatting and keep my shoulders back. I keep falling and get really frustrated. He is starting too fast and pulling my arms out of their sockets. I tell him I want to see him ski, since he knows everything.

He shows me how to drive the boat. He teaches me how to circle back around for pick up without shredding him with the propeller. I listen and learn but secretly can't wait until I see him struggle to ski too.

I hate him sometimes. He got up the FIRST time.

And stayed up for longer than 2 minutes. He looked graceful and made it seem effortless. Snaggle kept shooting pictures of him and clapping. I went faster and he still was standing. I think he did so well because I'm such a good boat driver, yeah that's the ticket.

I decide I don't want to water ski anymore, Snaggle won't try it so we get the tube. The tube is very fun and very scary.
It is scary because Don likes to pull us so fast. He'll turn really fast one way, then the other. The tube is "playing crack the whip". I'd bet we sometimes reach speeds of 50mph.
The sign we made up for "stop" is to wave your hand in the air. You can see in the picture, Snaggle frantically waving. Don didn't stop. I just hear Snag screaming at the top of her lungs "STOP! STOP! AHHHHHHHHHHH! STOP! IM WAVING MY ARM- STOP!" I know better, he's having fun watching us screaming. He'll stop when he wants to. I honestly don't ever think I waved my arm. I am not crazy, I had a death grip on the tube while flying around. If I let got to wave, I'd go sailing through the air at 30mph. He did finally stop. I was thankful, my arms were getting tired.

Snaggle was mad, "God Dad! Didn't you see my arm waving? Are you freaking blind? Can you not see anything?"

Don yelled from the boat, "Oh honey, I thought you were waving because you were gleeful and having fun!"

Snaggle Said:

I waved stop!

I'm Not Dead Yet. I Feel Fine, I Feel Happy!

2006-06-19T16:29:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling better about food, therefore life and training are great now too. Tonight we are having tangy-tantalizing meatloaf(beef,veal and lamb with a brown sugar-apricot glaze), mashed potatoes(made with real butter and cream cheese), beef-mushroom gravy and Italian green beans from market. I am excited. If you mentioned meatloaf four days ago, I would have pig-vomited on you.

I have my first ocean water swim this weekend. I'm a bit nervous about jaws, jellyfish and waves. Are waves gonna be crashing on top of me when I'm swimming and make me face plant into the sand? How much salt water can I swallow without gagging? I'll probably be ragging too and my husband told me the sharks like the women that are bleeding. We are like chum. I will swim fast.

My very own water skis arrived this afternoon. My husband won them on Ebay.
I tell you, I'll get knocked downed 30 times but I will eventually get up. My husband's day off is tomorrow, so we will take the new boat and water skis to Jordon Lake. Snaggle is coming along too. Snaggle will get some pictures of me getting dragged around like a rag doll, but I am determined to do it.

I did a hard workout today. Worked my triceps, chest and shoulders. Then ran for 40 minutes then swam this workout:

1500 yds total:
400 warm up
6 x 25 hard/30 sec rest
Kick 4 x 25 hard/30 sec rest
400 moderate/2 min rest
Kick 4 x 25 hard/30 sec rest
6 x 25 hard/30 sec rest
200 easy cool down

Swimming is really tough when I have already worked my triceps. I like to do things that are hard and sometimes painful. My triceps were on fire during the 25 hard(s), I must use them a lot during swimming. I don't know if that is good or bad. I'm trying to lose some body fat and "get a little more cut". I was looking over the diets of women that primarily body build and they live off protein. I'm not sure how well I'd do as a triathlete with eating mostly protein. I'm getting most of my calories from carbohydrates currently. Fuck, a packet of Gu is like 39 carb grams or something.

Anyway, I'm excited about dinner and my day tomorrow, even if I struggle. Just generally happy about health and getting to enjoy this life.

Down in the Dumps

2006-06-16T16:02:00.000-05:00

I feel like something the cat dragged in. I went to the gym today and tried to workout. I worked my legs and they felt like jello, it made me kinda dizzy. I swam about 750 yards and my arms felt like lead. It was an out of body experience, my body was moving but I don't know where I was. I'm not up to snuff and my stomach still doesn't feel right. I was able to keep the Cheerios down I ate this morning. My first solid food, yay! I decided not to run after the swim. I came home and ate a bowl of Chicken and Stars.

When I opened my cupboard, I was even more frustrated and disgusted. It looked like tornado alley. I can't find anything because it's so cluttered. Because I'm recovering and can't run around like a chicken with its head cut off, I actually took time to organize and clean. I tore apart the cupboard, shelf by shelf. I bleached each rack. I made a breakfast, cereal, canned goods, baking goods and condiments/pasta shelf. I also realized I have 5 jars of peanut butter, 3 cans of bread crumbs, 4 bottles of corn syrup and 5 bags of egg noodles. I threw the stale cereals, crackers, cookies in a big pot with buttermilk and the birds had a great feast tonight. The day wasn't a total loss after all! Ya know what is most appetizing to me still on that rack? Saltines.

I forgot to add that while I was cleaning out the bottom shelf of the cupboard, I stood up holding two bottles of soy sauce and caved my dome piece in- really hard. I slammed it into the corner of the top cabinet. I saw stars and little birds flying around in circles. I screamed "Jesus Fucking Christ!", then I started crying. It was one of those really bad days and I wallowed in my self pity. As I tried to sleep that night, every time I rolled over, I woke up because of my bruised noggin.

Sick as a Dog

2006-06-15T07:40:00.000-05:00

You don't know how thankful I am to not be vomiting every 15 minutes. I feel like I've been put through the spin cycle 20 times but I'm so thankful not to be gagging my head off.

It started yesterday morning at 5am. I had been feeling bad laying in bed around 3 am but I tried to just lay still and take deep breaths. Once I sat up, the vomiting and diarrhea began. I had eaten pizza and blueberries for dinner after my bike ride in the rain that evening with Meg. It obviously just sat in my stomach all night because when I projectile vomited, it was blood red. My husband heard me gagging and ran into the bathroom. "Oh my God! You are vomiting blood!" Then we realized it was just blueberries.

Every 15 minutes, I was vomiting and shitting. I had a bucket in my hands while sitting on the throne. This was worse than chemotherapy. During chemo, I would throw up but not shit at the same time. My husband was great, he would empty out the vomit bucket and hand me washcloths to wipe my snotty and vomity face. The only thing he did that made me want to vomit in his direction was he kept forcing me to drink water or gatorade. I kept throwing it up 10 minutes later. Nothing was staying down, not even my own bile. I felt like I wanted to die. At 10:30, I was just vomiting bright yellow and shitting liquidy intestinal lining. I was so thirsty, a thirst I have never had before. I felt like I had run a marathon in the Sahara. My tongue felt thick, pasty and swollen. Things were blurry, I couldn't stand up for more than one minute.

He said we were going to the hospital at 11am. I was scared, I thought I would shit in the car ride to the hospital. I ask him to wait until I did another gag and shit cycle and he packed me a clean set of jeans and underwear in case I pooped in my pants. It sucked to have no control of my body. It was pouring rain from the tropical storm, and we were hydroplaning during the drive. I made it to the hospital without embarrassing myself and ran into the bathroom when we walked into the door with my trusty vomit pail.

When I got into the exam room, they had trouble getting my blood pressure. Then they told me I needed to pee in a cup. I didn't think I had any pee left. They said if I couldn't pee in a cup, they would have to get a sample with a catheter. OH, hell no! I managed to get a tablespoon of pee out. Then they had to get in IV in, which was fine because I knew I would be getting some saline which would quench my thirst. When they were digging around in my veins I forgot about shitting or vomiting. It's funny how one type of pain can cure another. I got two liters of saline in about 1 1/2 hours. They also gave me some Phenergan in my IV. It made me sleepy and it seemed like everyone was echoing. I stopped throwing up. I was so fucking thankful I wanted to kiss the doctor and the nurse. I said thank you about twenty times.

I feel really tired. I am supposed to go to White Lake this weekend to water ski. I don't know if I feel up to transforming into Gumby again. I'm not supposed to eat any solid foods until the diarrhea stops and it hasn't. I've been eating ice, gatorade, jello and popsicles the last twelve hours. I can't remember the last time I have had the popsicles that are wrapped in plastic. You have to squeeze them like a tube of toothpaste. The purple and red ones are my favorites. While I lay around like and slug and watch TV, commercials about food make my stomach back-flip. I doubt I'll ever eat pizza or blueberries again.

Yesterday was a perfect day to be sick though, we got over 5 inches of rain. Snaggle got the season five of Sex in the City, so I'll probably crunch Sonic's rabbit pellet ice and watch that DVD. I don't care if I had to watch Sesame Street 24/7, as long as I'm not vomiting. Did I tell you I'm so thankful not to be vomiting? :)

I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!

2006-06-11T15:10:00.000-05:00

This weekend was full of first experiences. On Saturday, after a 50 mile bike ride, my friend Meg took me out on her boat. Meg asked if I wanted to try to water ski. It was hot as goat balls so I thought it would be a great idea. Meg went first and she looked like a pro. While I was watching her, she reminded me of the Go-Go's video above, "Vacation". She made it look so simple, I was ready to take the plunge.

She told me to keep my legs bent and shoulders back, it sounded simple enough. First I had to get the water skis on, which was hard in the water. I slammed the damn ski into my skin and got a nice bruise. Once I had them on, I had to grab the rope. "Ready?" Meg asked and the boat accelerated. I did a nose dive into the water and got a good nasal irrigation. I tried again and I did the splits like Nadia Comaneci. It felt like I ripped my hamstrings off. I kept trying and trying, I probably tried over 30 times to get up but couldn't. Ken and Meg were really patient, they had to keep circling around every time I'd fall. My last attempt was when I looked like Gumby, got an enema and a douche. Then the rope slammed into my quads and gave me a welt. I had enough self abuse for one day. I came home and told my husband about my lack of water skiing finesse. Guess what? He is buying a boat as we speak. I think he wants to see me look like an idiot.

Today, I decide to be a glutton for punishment yet again and try mountain biking with bike shop friends. Amy let me borrow her old mountain bike and we headed to Harris park. I am a sissy that is so afraid of falling. I could never be a mountain biker, I'm a roadie. Unlike yesterday, I did not fall once. I did feel like I was driving a semi-truck through McDonald's drive-thru when we did sharp turns through the trees. I squealed like a pig probably ten times when going over bridges and stumps and this made everyone laugh. I'm glad Amy let me borrow her bike because I know that mountain biking is not for me, it rattles my cage too much. I did complete the beginner course and two intermediate course laps. When I got home, I went for a 80 minute run during the heat of the day and was thankful to be on even ground.

I'm gonna learn how to water ski, I tell you. I want to look like the Go-Go's, fuckin' tiara, tutu and all! I'm sore today though, my arms feel like they were pulled outta socket. What other physically abusive things can I get into next?

Taking Off the Rose Colored Glasses

2006-06-08T07:49:00.000-05:00

Any change, even a change for the better, is always accompanied by drawbacks and discomforts.

I've decided to quit some bad habits that I feel have gotten out of control. It's been four days. I'm fine during the day but in the evening, when the clocks strikes party hour, I don't know what to do with myself. I've been working out in the soap shed more, going to the gym in the evenings and eating dinner earlier. I'm feeling pretty good physically but sometimes people can annoy the fuck out of me.

I've come to realize humans can become addicted to lots of things- alcohol, drugs, food, sex, porn, shopping, blogging. I guess what I need to figure out is why I felt like I needed these vices to make me happy every night. Honestly, I think they were my escape. They made my problems, fears and feelings go away for a few hours. I guess it's a problem with "dealing with reality". Since my rose colored glasses have been off, I see things and others' motives a lot more clearly. I notice the little things, good and bad. Like yesterday, when I was stretching after my run, I watched these ants carrying little bread crumbs. Sounds dumb, I know. I think my brain was so foggy I didn't notice the little things about life for awhile.

Not everything is a fun and simple as watching the ants though. I am feeling a lot more. Sometimes, I feel really angry with people that have hurt me. I didn't feel any hurt during party hours and I never said anything, I'd just listen and take it. If it was especially hurtful, I'd just do more partying to make it go away. Now, it's all out on the table and I'll have it deal with it. I have market today and I won't have party time after dealing with customers. Good lord, Waldo better not be a dildo-head or I may shove an egg up his ass. He'd probably enjoy it though. I just don't have the patience for whiney, unhappy, grouchy souls right now.

My husband has been helpful, taking me out to dinner and listening to me spew out my feelings about life. I have felt closer to him in the last few days. It's not just bad feelings that I was shutting down but all feelings. I know this a good decision, it will just take some time for me to adjust to a new routine. I know I've been more productive. I have be consuming less junk food at night. Who knows, it may help me become a better athlete. Well, it's time to milk the goats and notice the perfectly round the goat poop in the bright green grass.

Kitty's Five Kittens

2006-06-04T14:55:00.000-05:00

Kitty had five healthy kittens on Friday night. She's a great Mom too. I was worried about her the first day because she didn't leave them for 14 hours. This morning, she followed me outside while I was milking the goats. I think she needed a break. I can't imagine lying still for 23 hours a day while five little ones sucked on me.

The kittens aren't very fun right now. Their ears are flat againist their heads, their eyes still shut. Just wait, I'll probably be super annoying from weeks 3-6 with all sorts of stories and pictures.

Birthday Barbie

2006-06-02T17:29:00.000-05:00

Today is my husband's birthday. I asked him what he wanted. He said he wanted ceasar salad,
bacon wrapped filet mignon and twice baked potatoes. As a surprise appetizer, I made him bacon wrapped water chestnuts. He likes bacon like Monty. I am preparing this feast with Snaggle right now.

He comes homes with this cake. A customer made it for him. It's his "stripper popping out of the cake."

I asked him why she would make him that type of cake.

He said she asked him what he wanted and he said he was "joking" and said, "A stripper jumping out of a cake!"

You men are about as smart as the guineas. I asked him why he didn't lick the icing off her breasts. Why bring her home intact?

When I bring home flowers in a mayo jar from some redneck farmer at market, they get thrown away by a jealous husband. I'll just eat your slut city present, honey! And I'm not joking.

The Guineas: A Few Clowns Short of a Circus

2006-06-01T12:56:00.000-05:00

When I moved to the south, I had never heard of a bird called a Guinea. Down here, guineas are very popular. I probably get more phone calls for guineas than for any other bird. The farmers around here love to use guineas for pest control, especially for clearing out ticks. The guineas are constantly moving and keep busy chasing down bugs. Here on our farm, I have about 50 guineas that free range around the house and pastures.

Guineas are a few fries short of a Happy Meal. They have got to be the dumbest birds I have ever owned. One of their favorite activities is the "Help me, I'm trapped!" game. This game consists of a guinea flying over the fence then forgetting how to fly back over. The guinea will run back and forth along the fence line, screaming it's annoying guinea call. They have worn the grass down along the fence line from running back and forth. After 20 minutes, the guinea will have its beak open wide because it's tired and hot from sprinting. Suddenly, the light bulb goes off in its pea sized brain and it finally remembers how to fly over the fence.

I sold 30 guinea keets to a man last summer. About two months after I sold them, he calls me back and wants more because all his guineas got killed. I asked if it was a fox. I should have known better, that would be too normal for a guinea death. The school bus killed all of his guineas. I guess the guineas would follow his son down to the bus.
They hated the school bus and when it would drive away, they would chase and attack it. When one guinea would get hit, all the guineas would stand in the road and scream their clown looking heads off. Cars would come around the corner and take out more guineas. I think he lost all of them in a matter of three days. They are suicidal too, I don't know how they survived evolution.

Another favorite guinea game is "Up on the house top". Guineas are great at flying, if they remember how to do it. Some days, they decide to fly on top on the house and play reindeer games on the roof. They enjoy playing these games when we are trying to sleep in the early morning. It sounds like Out of Fucking Africa, in stereo. We don't need an alarm clock, we have a guinea stampede on the roof!

Guinea hens love to hide their nests. You cannot train a guinea to lay her eggs in a nest like a good chicken. Again, that would be too easy. They will find a spot in the woods on our 25 acre farm to hide their eggs. I have to go on egg hunts if I want to incubate any guinea eggs or have any keets to sell. Once you touch their nest, they will not return. Guinea hens are terrible mothers. Once the babies hatch, they go about their simple life running through the pasture eating bugs. The key word is running. The baby guineas can't keep up with the Mama. They start dropping off like flies and the hawks are always ready to swoop down for the kill. We will take away the baby guineas if a hen hatches them and raise them safely in a brooder.

Baby guineas are pretty cute. They are striped like little tigers. They are busy the minute they hatch and scamper around the incubator searching for morsels. That cuteness is gone by month 4. They start developing this scary clown face, white with red trim. Then, this giant lump of a dome piece forms on top of their head. It reminds me of the cartoons when someone gets hit on the head and a giant flashing lump appears. How can something be so ugly?

This morning, I was milking the goats and I see this tiny Taco Bell dog running up our driveway. The guineas see this little mutt and start screaming. Then the group of Einstein's decide to chase the dog. It was hilarious! The little dog starts yipping and runs home with his tail between his legs. They still are idiots though. What if it was a fox? The fox would just be sly and stand there, "Come to Mama!"

Beloved Bed Hog Boy

2006-05-31T13:19:00.000-05:00

Almost every night, I have to sleep like pretzel girl. My legs are normally tucked closed to my chest because our bed is full. Usually four "beings" sleep in our bed, me, my husband, pregnant Kitty and Monty (aka Bed Hog) Monty has to sleep on my side and has to have the ability to touch me. My husband spreads his legs wide like a pair of scissors so he has plenty of leg room. I'm left with a small square of bed area. Monty went outside at 2am this morning, I thought I could trick him. I closed our bedroom door so he'd be forced to sleep on the couch. I should know better, Monty doesn't give up that easily. He laid outside the bedroom door and whined, sighed and snorted every 10 seconds. You would think we hadn't fed him for a week or something. I couldn't get any sleep because of his crying, so I opened the door and gave up half my bed again.

Monty didn't always have the privilege of sharing our bed. For the first two years of his life, Monty was crate trained. Monty has always been a great dog to train. He was easy to potty train, he was "teacher's pet" in puppy class, he earned obedience titles and we even did some agility.

The only thing Monty cannot do is swim. I try to tell him, it's because he's too muscular. I took Monty to a lake once and he looked like a chain-saw slicing through the water. He only paddles with his front legs, his ass sinks. He looked so traumatized after this swim experience I never made him do it again. Hey, nobody is perfect.

He does act perfect in other ways. He's always had this air of superiority. He doesn't like other dirty dogs to touch him. I used to foster rescue Dobermans and Monty wanted no part of them. He acted like they were dirty, homeless, lice ridden creatures. God forbid if one of the foster dogs went potty inside. He wouldn't stand to be in the same room. He'd treat the dog like it was a disgusting idiot. We had a few that liked to eat crap. Monty would avoid those dogs like the plague. If they got near him, he'd run away like they had cooties.

He also hates to step in chicken, goose, duck or peacock shit. You should see him miss the piles of crap of the driveway. It's like he's tip toeing through landmines. When he steps on a pile of shit, he acts like his leg is broken. He'll hold it up in the air and refuse to walk. I have to go inside, get a clean paper towel with soap and wipe his paw off.

Monty has never killed or injured any of the farm animals. He is their protector. When he trees raccoons and opossums, he's very proud of himself and likes when Daddy shoots them out of the tree. Monty eats raw food. Chicken necks, backs, turkey necks and offal. One day, I got this bright idea that I would cull some of our own roosters for dog food. It took me over two hours to kill, pluck and dress three roosters. I wash off my killing for the day, chop it up and put it in Monty's bowl. He looks at me like I've lost my mind. He will not touch it. I get mad and put it in his mouth and close it. He starts gagging. He knew it was our roosters and refused to eat them, he acted like I was Hannibal. His favorite food is pizza and chocolate. Before you start yelling about dogs and chocolate, Monty weighs over 100 pounds. A dozen M&Ms won't kill him.

I trained Monty to be a therapy dog when he was two. He had to pass a test that consisted of walking nice on the leash, heel, sit, stay, lie down, come, leaving things alone on the floor like dropped medication. He passed with flying colors. He got his ID card and we were ready to go to nursing homes. The staff at nursing homes weren't too friendly though. They were scared of Monty even though he was a canine good citizen. We ignored them and tried to bring some joy to the older folks anyway. Monty didn't really enjoy going. I think he felt others' sadness and pain too much. He also has the OCD cleanliness problem, it smells bad in the homes. Once, a lady with a dirty diaper wanted to pet him and Monty kept trying to scoot away. When Monty would see a door that lead outside, he would walk over and touch it. The time a man grabbed my arm and wouldn't let go scared me too. A nurse had to come and pry his fingers off me. Monty was real good about it and obeyed his sit-stay command. The days after nursing home rounds, Monty would come home and sleep for the rest of the day. It took a lot out of him.

My "Monter" is getting old and it makes me sad. He's only seven but male Dobermans don't live very long. Most of them drop dead around this age of cardiomyopathy. I guess it's better than a long time of suffering. I see signs of Monty slowing down. He doesn't tolerate the heat as well, he sleeps more, he's looking "gutty". I know I don't have a lot more time with him and I don't know what I'll do when he's gone, I'm afraid. We have our daily routine. Wake up, I drink my coffee while he lays in the sun. He follows me out to milk goats and waits outside the pasture for his goat milk breakfast. He takes a mid morning nap while I train. He always meets me at the door and wants my empty water bottles to carry around.

My life will be so empty when he's not at the door waiting for the water bottle hand off. I have been so blessed with a wonderful companion for many years. When I am crying and sad, he knows and will come and snuggle with pretzel girl. He's the best shoulder I have ever had to cry on and probably ever will. I love you my Monter!

Woodlake Race Report

2006-05-27T15:02:00.000-05:00

600 yard swim, 17.2 mile bike, 3 mile run

Today was my first experience racing in age group, this wasn't a USAT race so there wasn't any novice category. Ben(my husband's son) and his wife Becky, came from New River Marine Corps Air Station to watch! It's always great to have a cheering crowd! This was the first time they have seen a tri race and they thought it was exciting. Ben hinted he may want to do one too!

Meg and I got to start the swim together this race. We both decided not to wear wetsuits because the lake felt nice. I do think that wetsuits help though, I know I used my legs a lot more without it. I think wetsuits are a legal way of cheating! They kind of surprised us at the start and shot the gun without any warning. We were off and kicking hard.

This race wasn't chip timed so I don't know my splits.
Ben timed my 600 swim at 12:12

Off on Falcor, I was prepared for the hills. This race, the bike was my favorite portion and my husband didn't get one bike picture! No christening of Falcor?He was trying, I'll give him credit. I know because I heard a volunteer yelling at him to get out of the transition area. :) I think I did well on the bike, I passed some men too. I love passing men! I passed this "Fat bottom Girl" on the bike and she fought with me about it. Fat bottom girl was wearing bikini shorts. She had a big ass, I mean big like out of proportion to the size of her body. I understand, my ass has always been the biggest part of me too. It's also the most difficult thing to look great in a bikini so I chose tri shorts.
Ben's bike time split for 18 miles: 54:00

The run was hot and on pavement or sand. About half way through the run, fat bottomed bikini girl passed my tri shorts ass. I watched her ass jiggle away, she was freaking fast. I kinda was fixated on her ass and I'm not a Waldo. I would have taken a picture of it if I had a camera. I thought about the men she is running past, they probably weren't thinking about the "hot as balls" run at that moment, it was the large, round ass bouncing by them. I felt like screaming out "You Go, Fat Bottomed Girl!" She was an excellent runner and she had the confidence to wear her bikini bottoms. You know what I've noticed about tri's? The women racing don't look like they are anorexic like distance runners. The women that usually win are healthy looking. I think I need to eat more, maybe a bigger ass helps!
Ben's Run Split: 23:50

I was feeling pretty hot and tired by the end of the run. I finally started my period but it started last night! I don't know if it was hormones or maybe I'm just a little burnt out but I didn't really "care" about this race. This morning, I wasn't all excited about racing, I just did it in auto pilot. Going through the motions by not having your heart in it. I'm looking foward to a month break from my next race. Kure Beach looks fun too because it's a double sprint-swim/run.

My overall time was: 1:33:10. I placed second in my age group. I won two medals today. The age group win is important to me because I have some people giving me flack about racing novice. When I decided to do triathlons this year, bike shop friend, Henry, told me I should race novice my first year. I'm actually glad I did. First of all, there is no pressure about points. I am having fun everytime I race because I don't have to be so competitive. I may not win big prizes, awards or medals but it has given me confidence. To any of you jerks that talk smack about me racing novice my first year, "Ta-DA" here's my age group medal.

Fat Bottomed girl came in first in her age group. I'm having an extra bowl of ice cream tonight in honor of her win! Then, I'll start some track work this month so my ass can jiggle as quickly as her big round bottom.

I'll Be Climbin' Like the Goaties

2006-05-26T16:55:00.000-05:00

Hubby and I went to packet pick up this afternoon. I had him time me going up and down this hill and another small one, it's the longest on the course with Falcor and Clifford. It took me 5:47 to go up and down the hill on Clifford and 5:17 seconds on Falcor. Falcor won, so he's in his first race tomorrow. I was kind of surprised at such a time difference, I guess I make up the time going downhill. That's me and Falcor climbin', you can't really tell because I look like an ant. Should I be trying to stay down in the aero bars as much as possible and down shift? Even up hills? I can stay down and climb if I put Falcor in the little ring.

The bike course was marked with pink, spray painted arrows. Check out this crime scene! They did body marking for Poor Mrs. Deer(deer remind me a lot of the goats). I kept having to pass her going up and down the hill. It is so hot and humid, flies were swarming her. I would have buried her but didn't have a shovel.

If I Had a Job in Sales, I'd Be a Raging Alcoholic

2006-05-26T06:54:00.000-05:00

Thursday's are always crazy busy days for me. Labeling products, packing the van, sorting eggs and loading coolers. My day is "hurry mode" until 7:30pm. By the time I have my table and signs set up at market, I'm ready for a nap. The fun has just begun though, now I have to deal with customers.

I have been at this market for almost three years. You see a lot of the same faces and sometimes find loyal customers. There is this one old man, that looks like "Where's Waldo", I see him every week. He's a strange bird and has never spoke to me until this year. I had heard him being rude to "Mother", the grandma that sells her cookies and breads at market. He was bitching at her because all her peanut butter cookies were broken. He wanted perfect cookies. The next week, mother made peanut butter cookies and set aside a package for Waldo. When Waldo arrived, she called him over and showed him the bag of perfect cookies. Waldo said he didn't like peanut butter cookies, he just didn't think it was right for her to sell broken ones. I've never really seen mother angry before but she muttered, "old fag" under her breath. Waldo is gay but mother saying it made me laugh harder.

Waldo walked up to my table a few weeks ago. He asked me about my eggs, he wanted me to open the cooler so he could look at them. I'm proud of our eggs, we have dark brown, light brown, blue, green and white eggs. I even buy special clear cartons for them so people can see the colors. I charge $2.00 per dozen and you get 25 cents back if you return my carton. So, $1.75 for fresh, free range eggs is a steal in my opinion. I'm not making any profit if I factor in labor. Waldo looks at the eggs and says he'll buy a dozen. Then he asked if I sold half dozens so I opened the other cooler and take out a mini carton. "I don't want to buy a half dozen. I just wanted to know."The next week, Waldo comes back and wants another dozen eggs. I open the cooler and he starts digging through it. "I want the one with the least amount of white eggs." He finds a carton with one white egg, grumbles about it and pays me.

This week, I have been collecting Marans and Welsumer eggs for incubation. These breeds are my dark brown egg layers. So this week, the cartons had about 4 white eggs in them. Waldo opened up the cooler himself this time and start digging through the eggs. I bring sodas with me so I have something to drink while sitting in the 92 degree heat. He takes out my Diet Dr.Pepper's and puts them in the dirt. He keeps on taking out cartons of eggs and setting them on the ground. He finally exclaims "There are far too many white eggs this week! I can't buy them." I tell them that I'll trade his white eggs for brown ones because tomato man always buys two dozen eggs and doesn't care about egg color. He seems relieved. "I won't eat any white eggs because they make you sterile." I about laid an egg when he made that comment, I could hardly contain myself. Waldo is 68 years old and he's not into fertilizing female eggs. What did it matter if he's shooting blanks up some guys pooper shooter? Then I had a scary thought, what if he's a sperm donor? Some unsuspecting mother-to-be with give birth to some kid that will be OCD about perfect peanut butter cookies and white eggs.

Just so you know, there isn't any nutritional difference when it comes to egg color. It all about what the birds eat and access to the outdoors. Our white egg layers are called Exchequer Leghorns. The Leghorn roosters are smaller birds and are the horniest out of the bunch. They are quick, fast little rapists and can service 20 hens a day. I'm not telling Waldo though.

Clifford or Falcor?

2006-05-25T08:15:00.000-05:00

I have a sprint this weekend, pretty close to home. Last weekend, we rode the bike course and it's HILLY. I tried out Falcor(my Blue TT bike) for the first time. Falcor loves to fly down the hills but I don't know if he likes to climb as much as Clifford(Litespeed Vela road bike). Falcor is more difficult to shift up hill too. I'm torn about which bike would be better for the race? Are TT bikes normally used on flat courses and road bikes for hilly ones? Any suggestions? This would probably be a good question for Flatman. By the way, his blog is back up at: http://fl4tm4n.blogspot.com/

I'm feeling more tired than usual the last few days. I don't have a lot of desire to train but I'm still getting my workouts done. It's been almost three weeks since the Half. The first week after the Half, I felt wonderful. I even posted I could run another one that same week. When I rode my bike on Tuesday, I was breathing real hard going up the hills. I've been having this problem during the last week of waking up at 2am-4am. I'll lay in bed and can't stop moving my legs. I probably annoy my husband because I enjoy kneading my feet on his legs like a cat kneads its paws while nursing. He'll wake up and ask "Why are you so fidgety hun?" He's so patient and kind. If someone was rubbing their stinky feet on me and woke me up, I'll probably scream "Keep your fuckin fidgety feet to yourself!"

Today is farmer's market, I will take all my 'wares I created to sell. Last week, when I left market, I stopped at a gas station on the way home to buy a 40 ounce can of beer to drink when I got home. I take it up to the register and dude is like "Driver License, please." I laughed and felt flattered until I opened my wallet and realized I had no license. It's fun when you get carded and can whip out your license like "Hahaha! I told you I'm legal!"

I'm racking my brain trying to figure out where my license is when I remember it's in Clifford's spare tire bag. I rode him over to packet pick-up at White Lake and never took my license back out. Clifford was at the bike shop too. I really wanted that 40! I smiled at ID dude and said "I'm 29, I promise. My license is in my spare tire bag on my bike at home." Then, I felt like an idiot. I'm telling ID cop that I ride a freaking bike. Now, he probably thinks I'm 12. He says "No ID, no beer." I'm getting pissed now, I really needed a beer after dealing with customers for 4 hours, I told you I have a problem with sales. "I SWEAR I'm 29.. I was born in 1977. I'm an Aquarius, I was born in the year of the dragon. Can you see the little crows feet starting to form around my eyes?" I was getting desperate and holding up the line. I guess I wore him down because he told me he'd let me go this time but not to come back without any ID again. I was thinking about going back to the store tonight and whipping out my license like "Ta-DA!" I better not drink anything for the next two nights. I'm already feeling tired and I want to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for Saturday's race.

I see London, I see France, I see Mojo's Underpants

2006-05-24T17:52:00.000-05:00

I packed my back pack after my post this morning for swimming: goggles, cap, soap, shampoo, clean clothes for running errands. I finished my run at the park and drove the gym, changed out of my running clothes, opened my back pack and didn't see a swim suit. I knew I forgot something!

Shit...I have to meet hay man at 1pm. I didn't want to have to drive the big hay truck all the way back home. It takes me 15 minutes one way. I found a pair of clean, red and white Christmas candy cane underwear in my bag. They were better than my jogging shorts! I put my hot pink jog bra back on with my Christmas underwear and did 1,500. I stayed on schedule too. I have all three lamb dishes in the works, various stages or simmering or marinating now. I also took my glass of wine outside and watched the goats on the playground, with my "architect" husband for awhile. Thanks for all your hard work honey, I know the goats will love it!

See, triathlons have taught me what's important.. You gotta do what you gotta do! Like swim in my underpants and help build goat playgrounds.

And the goats.. They think laying three feet away or in the feeders is VERY important. They are highly pissed off that the feeding stations have been moved and locked off.

I say.... Nanananananannanaaaa!

You can't lay and crap in them anymore! I can catch you now too. Nanananana Boo-Boo

Got Yer Goats?

2006-05-24T08:12:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my husband and I spent the entire day working in the pasture. I yelled at him once because he almost ripped my thumb off when we were trying to throw a tractor tire over the fence. He didn't say 1-2-3, he starting throwing at 1 and I wasn't ready! We took down old chicken pens and fencing to create a better pasture for the goats. We are going to use the wood from the old chicken coops to build a goat playground. We also bought over $200.00 in lumber for their new playground. They are going to love it! They'll get to climb up ramps, lay on the top platform and sunbathe. I'll enjoy drinking some wine in the evenings and watching them play "king of the mountain".

We used some of the fencing from the chicken pens to form a feeding/corral area for the goats. This corral is locked until feed time, then I open it and they are locked in. You don't know how difficult it can be to catch a goat in a 7 acre pasture for worming, then keeping track of which goats have been wormed. It would drive me crazy! Now, I have tricked them and I will catch them with ease. The goats are really obnoxious when you try to feed them, they are impatient. They'll stand on the feeders. I can't pour the food into the feeder when they stand in it, the food sometimes is poured on their heads or on the ground. Today, they were confused about how to get to the new feed area but when they heard the sound of the metal garbage lid, they came running!

I also learned how to operate a Troy-Bilt zero-turn riding mower. I almost peed in my pants when I first started driving it because I almost mowed down my husband.(That was for making my thumb bleed) Then, I almost took down the fence. It took me a couple minutes to figure out, reverse, forward, right and left using both hands. Then, I was zipping around the pasture cutting the grass like a good old redneck. Hand me a Bud Light and some chewing tobacco and we'd have a good Polaroid!

I bought ten pound of lamb I've got to cook today. Irish lamb stew, lamb chili and souvlaki. The butcher gave me a great deal I couldn't resist so I'll start a cook-fest after I run, swim and pick up goat oat hay. Ya'll want to come for dinner and watch the goaties play?

Mom-isms

2006-05-22T09:29:00.000-05:00

Here is my Mom, my sisters and I. I am the fat, butterball turkey in my Mom's arms. I spent time with my Mom this weekend and thought about all the funny things she says. My Mom's language is colorful and full of exaggerations, she cracks me up. Here are some classic "Mom-isms":

"As Tight As A Tick": Mom talking about someone that is cheap. They don't share their wealth, split the bill or leave good tips.

"Fat City, Sin City, Slut City": Any word followed by the word "city" means she feels strongly about it. Fat city is a super sized McDonald's Big Mac meal. When I asked to go to a New Years Eve party in 10th grade, she told me "No, it's nothing but Sin City!" When I tried to wear a tight, spandex skirt with black tights to school, she made me change because I looked like slut city.

"All Hot and Heavy" When I'd have boyfriends come to the house and we'd be watching TV, my Mom would tell me not to get "all hot and heavy". This would really gross me out, my Mom talking to me about sex!

"You are going to rot your teeth right out of your head!" My Mom was a dental hygienist. She has this thing about teeth. I loved to suck on lemons when I was 12 and it would make her crazy.

"You smell like a wet dog or you stink like a skunk" You need to bathe!

"Get Out of Dodge" She knows something bad is going to happen so she is going to avoid it.

"You almost ripped my arm off!" We went for a walk at the park on Friday. I picked up a large stick and was poking it in a tree hollow. My Mom was standing behind me. I moved my hand up the stick and I touched something wet and slimy. I freaked out and dropped stick, it "brushed" my Mom on the arm.

"As mean as a snake" When I'm in a bad mood.

"You look like Clarabell Clown" She thinks I applied too much makeup. Who is Clarabell anyway? Is she even a clown?

"It looks like a mouse danced on your head" When she doesn't like my hair.

"Shape Up or Ship Out" Change your attitude or you'll get smacked.

Farm Pictures

2006-05-18T17:39:00.000-05:00

A mother goose hatched a gosling a few days ago. Only one. It's really healthy and thriving. The geese are wonderful parents. I can't get a good close up of it because they guard it like the Pope.

This is Kitty and and Araucana rooster.
Kitty's name is Kitty... Guess I wasn't feeling
creative when he came into our lives.
Kitty is a mouse murderer, lizard tail lopper, baby bunny beater, salamander slapper- farm cat. He kills every varmit. The other day, Kitty ripped into a new bag of cat food I'd bought that was on the kitchen floor. I was like "Chill cat, I'll open it for you!"
I looked at Kitty and he looked bloated. I thought maybe I needed to worm him. He doesn't have worms though. He's a she and is pregnant! I guess I got slack in my ball knowledge too. Not everything is as obvious as two month old baby goat balls. I won't post a picture of the adult bucks because the human men will get jealous.

I'm Not Super-Woman

2006-05-18T08:19:00.000-05:00

After the Half at White Lake, I stayed for Sunday's sprint because some friends were racing. I stood on the run course and clapped, smiled and told every runner that passed me, "Good Job! You are almost done, keep it up!" Some racers would have special shirts on that said something like- "My name is Sue, say Hi Sue!" One lady that passed me on the run had the Superman sign on her shirt. I said, "Way to go Super-Woman, good job!" She angrily yelled back at me, "I'm not Super-Woman, it SAYS Super-Slacker!!" Alrighty then, excuse me for cheering for ya, Super Biatch!

Which brings me to my topic of today, PMS. Those three letters usually cause men and women to tense up with fear but I've started looking at it differently. During these few days every month, I am in a heightened state of sensitivity. The truth about my life is clearer, this can be good and bad. I become more aware of projects and dreams I haven't fulfilled. I can either beat myself up about it and have a grand pity party, scream and bitch at others because I'm unhappy or get to work. It's like these few days are the last ditch effort to get the ball rolling and finish jobs that need to be accomplished. If I listen to myself, I find what is out of balance in my life.

I realized this month that I have been a Super Slacker in the soap making business area. The White Lake Half consumed me for the last few weeks. I could only think about the race, training, eating, working out. I had no desire to make any products in my soap shack, I was having a creativity block. Last week at market, I had people asking for shampoo bars, lotion, lip balm and soap. Now that I can look back on the Half, I shouldn't have worried so much. I fear the unknown. Another bone marrow biopsy would be okay because I know how it felt. Ask me to run a marathon in eight weeks and I'll drive myself crazy worrying about the unknown factor.

My intuition and creativity has been increased the last few days and I go into this PMS-inspired-creativity frenzy. I decided to get to work in the soap shack again and I feel much better.

I've made Buddha soaps....

And orange and lemon soap-on-a-rope.....

About 100 lip balms. Pictured is blackberry-vanilla and coffee and cream. It took me forever to do the double sided balms in the tins. I had to figure out what I could use to keep the hot balm flavors from bleeding together but I did it! I also made eight bottles of leave in conditioner.

Today, I'll be making bubble bath bombs. I'll probably mold them while watching some corny Lifetime movie and get all teary eyed because I'm feeling sensitive. Who cares though, at least I can say "So long, Mrs. Super Slacker Soap Maker!"

Dropped Like a Hot Potato

2006-05-17T06:24:00.000-05:00

Yesterday evening, I went on the fast group ride again. Since Clifford has been put back into a road bike(aero bars have been taken off), he's much more fun and powerful to ride in the group. When we started out, some of the guys were trying to coach me on how to stay with the group. "Don't pull for too long, get right behind that big guy and suck his tire." The ring-around-the- rosy game started.

Everything was great for the first ten miles. I had even pulled the long, snake-looking line of bikers three times. The guys would always say, "Okay, that's enough. Come on back." I pulled them only for a minute, I think they were trying to save me. It's kind of scary riding in the extremely tight pack when we are going so fast. I have to keep very alert and focus on the rider ahead of me. I watched his tires and his feet and kept my hands very close to the break. I'm centimeters away from his back tire, I think I'm pretty good at sucking tires! After I did my minute long pulls, it was hard to get back into the pack line without creating a gap. I kept practicing tucking back in quickly. It's as much as a mental game as a physical one.

Around mile 10, people started dropping off to create the "sub" packs of the fast group. When I turned around at mile 12, I realized I was the last person in the "real big boys fast pack". It was the first time I had stayed with the very first group. I stopped pulling to save my energy and stayed in the very back of the line. I was going to do everything I could to stay with this group all the way back to the bike park. A few of the guys were nice, telling me I was doing a great job. I sucked tires for dear life.

Around mile 18, there is a long hill and a left turn at the top of the hill. I was pumping up that hill as fast as my legs would spin. When the first guy made the turn at the top of the hill, I started falling apart. Centimeters of tire sucking turned into inches. I was last in line and the gap was growing. I wasn't sure how I could bridge the gap. If I down shift and spin, I think I lose power. I almost always stay in the big ring, even on hills. Inches turned into feet as I was trying to figure out how to catch up. Once the gap was this wide, I knew it was over. I saw some of the guys turn around and watch me fade. I felt defeated. I thought for a moment maybe they'd slow down and wait for me to catch up but they didn't. I'm glad they didn't because they give me a challenge. One day, I will complete the entire 25 mile loop with the fastest big boys and sprint to the finish. I just have to figure out how.

It's really an awful feeling to watch them pull away. It's different than when you decide to quit or slow down because you make that decision, you are in control. I was trying my hardest and got left anyway, I had no control. I decided I would ride the last 7 miles back alone. I could have waited for one of the "sub" groups behind me but I was ashamed. I decided I would ride those last 7 miles back to the park as fast as I could alone. I know the only way I'll get better is if I push myself.

Does anyone have any advice about how to stay with the pack up the hill and around the left turn? Should I not be very last in line? Is there a trick about gears?
“Defeat may test you; it need not stop you. If at first you don't succeed, try another way. For every obstacle there is a solution. Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. The greatest mistake is giving up.”

My Sister, My Tri Friend

2006-05-16T07:10:00.000-05:00

My sister did her first triathlon of the season last weekend, in Virginia. She did the Luray Sprint She did well too, she placed 5th in her age group. I shipped her my wetsuit last weekend and her little boy said he loved her new outfit. She probably looked like Catwoman to him! After her successful weekend, I talked her into doing the Tri The Pee Dee sprint with me in July. I'm so excited! I get to race with my sister! Here is my sister, her two kids and my mom after a 10k race in DC.

My sister is 5 years older than I am, I wasn't much fun to hang with until I was 14. When I was 8, I remember begging her to play games with me. My favorite was Clue. She would always win and it would make me mad. One day when we were playing, she had to go to the bathroom. I desperately wanted to win, so I picked up the Top Secret envelope and looked at the cards. It was Mrs. Peacock, with the wrench, in the Ballroom. When she came back, it was my turn. I couldn't wait to win! I told her Mrs.Peacock, wrench, ballroom. My little 8 year old mind didn't think ahead. We'd only been playing for a few minutes and I only had crossed off 3 things from my check list. She knew I had cheated and refused to play Clue with me for one month. I never cheated again. She did ask me to play 52 card pick up during that month. I was so happy she wasn't punishing me anymore, she was going to play cards with me! That was until she threw the deck of 52 cards all over the living room floor and then told me, "Now you get to pick them up!" It wasn't a fun game!

We became good friends when she left for college. When she'd come home during the summer, we'd hang out most of the time. That's when the long bike rides started. I had a piece of shit bike, I think it was a Murray 10 speed. We had no bike shorts(I think I wore jean shorts) and no helmets. It didn't matter thought, we'd ride a trail in Northern Virginia for about 3 hours a day. We always would have an ice cream place in mind for our half way point pit stop. My crotch hurt so bad when we'd get home. We were hot, hungry and tired. We'd grab a bag of Doritos, lay on the floor under the fan and listen to Neil Diamond's "Cracklin Rosie". It was my dad's CD but we were too tired to change it. We'd listen to that song over and over again.

My sister was nice enough to take me on her beach vacations during her college years. The summer I turned 16, she let me get drunk at the beach. It only took three beers and I was plastered. My drunken self decided it would be a good idea to run down to the beach. I didn't make it to the sand, I fell down the stairs and hurt my ankle. I was drunk so it didn't hurt too bad. The next morning, my ankle looked like a purple goose egg. It hurt to put any pressure on it, I could hardly walk. It probably needed medical attention but we were low on funds. I thought soaking it in the ocean would help.

We went to the beach and I gimped into the ocean with my goose egg ankle. I laid on my float and soaked up some rays. I started to come into shore and this hot surfer dude whistled at me and waved. I tried to walk onto shore as gracefully as I could with my broken ankle. Smokin' hot surfer dude was watching me then started walking away from me quickly. My sister was laying on her towel laughing her head off. She said I looked like a fuckin' retard when I gimped out of the water and scared surfer dude away. I can always count on her to be honest!

We've had some great memories and laughs. I can't wait to do this Tri in July with her.. I know something funny will happen, it always does when we are together.