Posts Tagged ‘The Bear!’

Nostalgia Overload


Oh, Caaaaarleton, our alma maaaaaaaaaaater, we haaaail the maize and bluuuuue... (Image from http://www.carleton.edu).

ON LOCATION! — In Minnesota/Iowa this week!

WEATHER: Big, hot sky.  No clouds.  No shade.  The usual Iowa-in-summer.

MILES: 5

MILES THIS WEEK: 16

WHERE TO: Heaven (which is to say, “Northfield, Minnesota“), then home, which is arguably even better.

MOOD: Nostalgia-until-my-head-explodes.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

My dear readers, I apologize for being remiss in posting.  It’s been a week full of travel and incoherentness, and as a result — a week of very little running.  I began writing this post from the library on my college campus, as I took a break from my 5-year college reunion festivities. Rest was a necessity, given the exhaustion I had from partaking in three truly taxing activities:

1) Drinking

2) Giving the “here’s-what-I-do-now-and-what-about-YOU?” speech

3) Raucous laughter.

…the raucous laughter being the result of the cadre of women with whom I associated in college, all of whom miraculously stopped their world-domination plans to come back to school for 4 days.  Hanging-out-time with these women is truly exhausting because of the competitive nature of our conversations, in which we all try to (a) out-loud and (b) out-dirty each other.  As I sat in the library drafting this post, in fact, The Bear began G-chatting me.  She sent the following messages:

“<SCREEPY STARE>

grope grope”

UUUUUUNNNNNGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
<chewbacca noise>”
“SCREEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! panties!!!!”
.
And while this does not capture the full depth of the filthy discourse in which we ladies generally partake, it at least gives you a measure of the maturity level.
.
And as it turned out, running became a prominent part of the weekend after all, and not just because of my midday detox jogs through town.  No, I might add that one highlight of the 2010 Carleton College Reunion was the Class of 1985′s Saturday-night dance party getting streaked.  I have absolutely no idea what kind of beautiful, ballsy, uninhibited pervs would do such a thing, but when I find out, I will by all means let you know.
.
Anyway, the whole thing required a lengthy Sunday-night sleep as well as a lengthy Monday-morning running-and-stomach-discomfort-fest to get out of the system.  And yet I am pretty sure that I am still slightly sore from dancing and laughing so hard, which I think we can agree is the mark of a weekend well-spent.
.
Today I am back in Iowa, and my jog this morning was full of the hallmarks of an Iowa run: no shade or clouds, for one, and a pervasive hot-ness that is sort of surprising.  Which is generally bad, but it intensifies the also-pervasive smell of soil, which if you don’t understand, you just won’t understand (if you understand…).  But there are new aspect this time around as well…for instance, a nearby road construction project has increased the traffic on my family’s road from 1 car per day (usually ours) to a veritable gridlock of 7 or 8 per day…all of whom drove by me as I shirtlessly tromped down the gravel road.  All also seemed to be filled to the brim with small screaming children, who either gave me the thumbs-up or a laughing fit as they kicked up gravel all over my sweaty body.  Fortunately, as I wiped the sweat-and-dust-paste from my body, I had a few new wind-turbine colonies in the distance to contemplate. 
.
More disturbingly, however, I was not greeted by a snuffling, hyper pack of swine as I ran up onto the yard.  This is because my father is perpetually fidgeting over the decision of whether or not to continue raising animals.  I’m not sure what he thinks he will do with his time, but my guess is taht he will move a few buildings.  Since all his daughters have left home, the man has taken to rearranging buildings the way that the rest of us rearrange furniture.  Except, of course, massive forklifts, bulldozers, tractor trailers, and cement mixers generally don’t come into play when I’m moving an ottoman.  My dad, on the other hand, gets to hang out with a large group of men and go “BRRRRRMMMMMMM” while they slide a garage from the south side of the house to the southWEST side. 
.
The point of this story is that every time I come home I get a pretty good idea of where I get my sort of obsessive squirrelliness.  So when Dad asks, “How can you run so much?” I can generally answer “How can you buy 75 pigs on a whim and then move the machine shed 20 feet?”  And he will say, “Ah, touche.”  Or, more realistically, “Aaaagh, don’t be a smartass.” 
.
Furthermore, Mom eats peanut butter with a spoon (and also a healthy sense of gusto).  Another “where-is-that-from” question solved.
.
That’s all I got.

Pleasegetbetter.


WEATHER: Over 50!

MILES: HOW MANY?  11 on the elliptical.  Which I equate to…oh, 8 miles running, as calculated by the “because-I-flippin’-say-so” calculator.

MILES THIS WEEK: 74.5

MILES THIS MONTH: 132

WHERE TO: The gym at work.  A little 2-foot by 3-foot space therein.

MOOD: Hopeful

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

I’ve been icing the knee so much that I have a couple spots of mild frostbite popping up.  I know, I know, the ice pack says “do not apply directly to skin,” but it just won’t WORK AS WELL, DAMMIT, if I do it the WUSSY way.  Plus, this gives me an added feel-all-better benefit…you know that old joke where the guy goes to the doctor…

GUY: Doctor, my finger is broken.

DOCTOR: <stomps on Guy’s foot, shattering several bones>

GUY: <through tears of anguish> Why did you do that?

DOCTOR: Your finger doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?

Well, I am both the psychopathic doctor and hapless patient in this scenario, in the sense that the frostbite rubbing against my pants all day makes me wonder if it’s actually the joint that hurts or if it’s just the skin.  Which is strangely comforting, because if I can’t tell, the injury couldn’t be that bad.

Anyway, the knee feels strangely not-that-bad right now and didn’t even twinge on the walk home from work, even when I jogged across a couple of streets to avoid homicidal DC drivers.  Hoowah!  Hope!

Oh, and UPDATE!: The Bear ran her half-marathon on Sunday in 3:12, after which, I understand, she ate many bagels and then screamed, crumbs of bread spewing from her mouth, “RAAAWWWWR!  I AM A GOLDEN GOD!  I AM A BEAUTIFUL ANIMAL!”

Good job, The Bear.

Hooray for The Bear!


The Bear is running THIS!

Look! There she goes!

WEATHER: Warming up — 32ish!

MILES: 10.5

MILES THIS WEEK: 42.5

MILES THIS MONTH: 100

WHERE TO: Georgetown, Glover Park, blah, blah…

MOOD: Chipper but feeling a cold coming on.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

My run this morning was wonderful.  Yay!  But today we have more important matters to tend to.

Because today, dear readers, we celebrate new runners everywhere by wishing good luck to a lovely woman (and this blog’s top commenter) who I will simply call The Bear (which has much more to do with her little commenter icon than her looks) (which are SMOKIN’ and not at all bear-like).

You see, The Bear is running her first race this weekend — P.F. Chang’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Half-Marathon in Phoenix, Arizona. And as she is a dear friend and a truly wonderful person, I have composed a poem for The Bear…13 lines in length, even, to propel her though 13 miles of sheer Arizonan sunny BLISS!

TO THE BEAR ON YOUR FIRST HALF-MARATHON:

Roses are red,

Your toenails are black.

Your sports bra is kickin’;

Your skivvies are wack.

*

Your nipples won’t chafe

Because you’re not a guy.

If you crap yourself,

Try not to cry.

*

I hope you kick ass

When you run P.F. Chang’s.

Did you know that “chang’s”

Also rhymes with “wangs”?

*

(…because it does.)

————————–

New runners!  Unite!  Run a race!  And someday you, too, can be the recipient of a lovely rhyming poem that inspires and motivates you and also includes the word “wang.”

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.