Posts Tagged ‘Xena’

Recovering from Injury (Step 1: Admitting You Have a Problem)

Yes, you might be injured, but you are also most definitely a MIGHTY PRINCESS FORGED IN THE HEAT OF BATTLE.

WEATHER: Unseasonably warm.

MILES: A few.  Sort of.

MILES THIS WEEK: A few.  Sort of.

WHERE TO: Wandering aimlessly and listlessly in the vast and lonesome desert that the injured runner trods, dragging my gimpy foot behind me as I wail to the heavens in agony.

MOOD: Improving.  Which isn’t saying much.


My dear readers, it has been too long.  And so the blog makes it TRIUMPHANT EFFING RETURN with a new and informative topic:

HOW TO DEAL WITH AN INJURY.  Allll 12 stages.

So.  Put on yer ass-kicking boots and grab a juicebox and a Percocet and a girly mag.  It’s gonna be a wild ride.

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Running with the Pagan Spirits

WEATHER: 30 degrees

MILES: 10.5, including 2 x 15-min. tempo runs



WHERE TO: Down Rhode Island Ave., to K Street, to Georgetown, up Wisconsin Ave., across on Macomb Ave. to Connecticut Ave., then Dupont Circle, then home.  In case you cared to know.

MOOD: Stress-relieving


So here’s the thing: a new school semester has begun, and, to be honest, I can’t come up with something fresh and insightful (because what is more insightful than jokes about pee and g-spots?) every day.  So we are enlisting the assistance of a nifty hobby I’ve taken up since Christmas, in the interest of procrastinating schoolwork: Tarot-card-reading.  I’m just going to draw a card at random and apply it to my lovely morning tempo run, which went better than expected.

Now, I know there are those of my friends and acquaintances reading this who, for various spiritual reasons, do not approve of occult-based spiritual practices, even those based upon decks and books bought out of sheer boredom off the bargain rack at the only Barnes & Noble within driving distance of my fantastically isolated home while Christmas shopping with my mom.  And I respect that.  I very much do.  But I also feel that, if you feel that Tarot should be paid no mind at all, there is little greater disrespect that can be paid to it than inclusion on a 3rd-rate running blog maintained by a frayed-nerved, sleep-deprived, romantically challenged twenty-something wannabe writer who has run out of ideas.


Today’s running card:

Look at 'er. She's just OWNING that chair.

So.  The Queen of Wands, according to a random (but very informative) Tarot blog I found, “is a passionate, confident, powerful woman. She’s full of life and expects to achieve anything she desires. The fires in the background remind us that her energy can become destructive, if unchecked. Beneath her throne, the cat waits to pounce. She is completely connected to her animal instincts.”

Also note that the accompanying card (at left) shows a distinctly Xena-like, almost tranny-ish lady who is definitely working the power stance on that chair.

Ummm…well, I did kick a few cats while I was running today…so check off the “destructive” and “animal instincts” parts.

Huh.  This is a toughy.

Basically this lady looks like she set fire to a village, found a chair, put her pet cat down and pulled out her sword for a leisurely polishing while she celebrated the spoils of victory.  “Yep.  I got it goin’ on,” she’s saying.

I did not set fire to a village this morning — I hocked up a few lugies (sp?) on the Georgetown sidewalks.  And when I got home I did the First-Street-striptease (unzip shirts, untie tights, pull out keys, take off hat and gloves, all while jogging up to house) so that when I got in the house I could RIPITALLOFF and jump straight into the shower, because living in a house with four women, one has to JUMP on that shower when it’s open, because sometimes it seems that roommate so-and-so is just WAITING to hear your keys in the front door, and then takes THAT (and NOT her alarm clock) as her wake-up call to get herself into the shower for what I presume is wax-everything-fest-2010, judging from the time it takes.*

So I left sweaty clothes and spit in my wake, sat down in my crappy Target desk chair, and brandished my hair dryer and make-up for a looking-good session in front of my MacBook, because, OK, no I do NOT own a mirror, so Photo Booth is just going to have to do.  And then my oatmeal spilled all over my bag on my way to work.

Once again, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Clearly tarot is unlocking the universe for me.  I’m going to bed.


*Housemates: if you read this, I take major creative license, I realize.  Don’t hate me or spit in my peanut butter.