Taking On Bob

I pull into McConnell’s squishing my fat mini van into a packed parking lot.  “Flavors, flavor, gonna go get my flavor.” 

As soon as I cross into the might-as-well-be-the-bar, Bob (owner) shouts, “Hey!  30meter race for free ice cream?”

“What?”

“No,” says cute girl in red logo shirt by WowCow machine, “He’s serious!”

“Um, OK, sure.”

Bob comes over wearing his jeans and running shoes.  He is a former pro-football player, Kansas City Chiefs I believe, and used to rock a mean 200meter sprint. 

“Oh,” He says, “You got nice shoes on.”

“Never mind the shoes,” I exclaim, “I can go barefoot.”  I kick off my shoes and roll up my jeans.  I mean FREE ice cream is on the line here.

30 meters across the parking lot.

I swear I won.  Bob swears he won.

Rematch.

30 meters back across the parking lot.  A gentleman eating mint chip calls the line.

I win.  Well, maybe I did, he gave me the ice cream.  I wonder if Trader Joe’s will let me sprint for free groceries.  This could be good.

It Could Happen To You

 Thankfully, I am all signed up for the Santa Barbara International Marathon.  In my excitement, I started to sift around Al Gore’s invention for other alluring 26.2 mile events.  Just curious.  Just because…..um….look a plane!

Everything is full.  I have not run a marathon in 11 years.  [Clearing throat] Back then, one could kind of decide a couple nights before over beer bets to go belly up at the starting line or was that finish line?  Now people have to plan like a year in advance to run an event, qualify or enter a lottery!  Lucky Lotto Number…you sir get to rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrun 26.2 miles!  Please bring your own socks, shoes, shirt, gels, and vaseline.  We’ll give you water every now and then and snap a photo of you at the finish.  Please train for this event.  We will have medical people everywhere, but we’d prefer they just drank coffee.

Did you know that ONLY 5,000 people get to run the SBIM?!  That is like one more than 4,999.  Did you know that everybody that I know is already signed up?

“But I was going to wait until Labor Day and sign my husband up then as you know a nice “labor” day gift.”

“But I was going to sign up the day after Thanksgiving when I am sure that I’ll do anything to take away the pain of too much turkey.”

“But….but….but……”

Watch your but(t) or else we will all be watching it on the sidelines!  Sign up.

Recoothie

Recovery drink?  Smoothie?  Ah-ha, Recoothie!

1 Cup Non Fat Greek Yogurt (packs 22grams protein)

1 Cup Frozen Blackberries (Fiber)

1/4 Cup Tart Cherry Juice (shown to have anti-inflammatory effects, tastes good)

1/4 Cup Skim Milk

2 scoops Whey Vanilla Flavored Powder (16 grams Protein and tons of other Vitamins and Minerals)

Blend.

Good?  Oh yeah.

Calories: 400

“Um,” says asking friend, “Can I add Vodka?”

“To a recoothie?” I answer, “Absolutely!”

Absolute Recoothie.  Hee hee hee.  But probably a better recovery drink without the Russian influence (or French, or USA or whereever you are getting your distilled potato or grain v-o-d-k-a.  A-K?  Keep it virgin, Mary.

Word on Meat

Word on the street about meat is that it is meat.  What?

My three year old picks apart his hamburger and licks the ketchup off the bun.  “Can I have more Ketchup?” 

“No, eat your meat.”

“Where’s meat?” he asks all bewildered.  “This?” he holds up a bun bit.

“THAT is meat.  Eat your hamburger,” I point, “Well actually eat your cow burger, it is from a cow.”

Oops.

“We don’t eat cows!”

“Yes we do.”

“Not farm cows!”

“Yes, we do.”

“Not cows with black and white spots!”

“No, we drink their milk.  Drink your milk.” I put my head in my hands and watch my son contemplate his qued-cow.  “What other animals do we eat?”

“We don’t eat chickens!”

“Yes we do.  Where do you think chicken nuggets come from?”

“Dinosaurs.”

It is much easier to explain being a vegetarian to a child.  Corn?  Corn!  Bring on the corn!  Have another ear!  What?  Corns have ears?  Nahhhhhhhhhh Mom you’re silly!

Whayamean COW?

Red, White, and Blew……

Actually no.  No what?  No puke.  No pee.  Well, then you must not have put it all out there, um-hum, I beg to differ.

Happy 4th of July!

It used to be 4 on the Fourth, but now I am up to racing a 15K in Santa Barbara’s oldest road race the annual Semana Nautica 15K road race.  Cool clouds makes for a perfect morning and now that the course is USATF certified a few track clubs and outsiders slid into town to run with us Barbarians.

Classic Ricky: “Stick to me.”

Classic new-Me: “Not unless you have a fire hose.”

Travis: “What will you do?”

Me: “6:10’s.”

Gun.  Two mile split: 12:21.  I started a bit fast, but Rusty put in the warning and I listened!  Not a 5K, not a 5K, got to go 10-more-K than a 5K.  Yep, yep, OK.  I could not even see the pack of Todd, Ricky, Connor, Fred, and others.  Ed ran past me before the 2 mile and I tried to hold him and then I quickly realized Ed might know something about distance.  Go Ed!  I believe it was Rick Jones who snuck up too and I followed him as he ran very even.  I counted the miles off in my head.  Then I decided to break it up into 10K and then 5K.  Then I just tried to you know…not think about it, but think about in a way that made it even.  Following me?  No?  Good.  Ah-ha, sneaky.  No one else was following me either.  Leif, Eric, Mike?  Where did you go?

Here’s my off-note on this morning’s very fun race: boys, men, guys.  Um, wha?  OK, everytime a girl sneaks up on you to pass you get very upset about it and pick it up for a few meters before you realize the inevitable, you’ll be chicked.  I think this hurts more than if you just let the girlfriend fly by.  I won’t lie, I love it.  At mile 5 a young guy in black got a little huffy about me shouldering him on the climb.  He picked up his gait, but well, eventually he got to watch my backside.  Saucy?  Oh come on, just having fun!  I mean I wore blue, painted my nails blue, I got spirit..yes yes I do!

5K to go.  I see another guy dropping off the pack I am following.  “Get ‘em, get ‘em, get ‘em,” I repeat over and over.  No, I am not autistic!  I just didn’t want to forget what I was doing, get ‘em!  Closer, closer, getting closer!  On the last mile I am on his heels.  George pulls up on a bike to my side and it motivates me.  I pass.  An audible “argh” from the gentleman and he passes back.  A fight?  To the finish?  Oh-ye-ah.

At 500 meters we can see the finish line decked in orange cones and a big yellow clicking clock.  Chalk draws huge white arrows pointing “THIS WAY RUNNING PEEPS”.  Fans (sure, I’ll call you family members that for today) yell and cheer (including my munchkins in helmets).  Crossing gaurds point the general direction to Mecca, ie finish line.  Two short turns left and my man turns right when we are supposed to turn left, LEFT everything is over there on the left!  Wrong turn and I got an easy win over him.

Hmmmmm, kind of makes you wonder.  What would you do to not get chicked at the finish line?  Would you “accidentally” turn the wrong way?  Wouldya-wouldya-wouldya?

I guess I’ll never know.

Awesome event held by the SBAA and I had a great time, no I think I did, literally 57:34.

CHRISTINA

As soon as you meet Christina, you wish you had met her earlier.  Her dark hair and bright eyes draw you in and her infectious smile keeps you there.  Everything about her is welcoming and Christina is very easy to talk to.  I had the pleasure of briefly interacting with her at morning track before she was diagnosed with colon cancer. 

One day she was there running along Mountain Drive and a few days after that our group received word of her illness.  How unfair life can be, how lucky it made us all feel, how sorry we were, but she would never want us to be sorry for her.  Visiting Christina at her home, I met her family.  Three absolutely beautiful children cuddled around her.  She looked radiant.  She spoke even and steady about her diagnosis.  She smiled.  Well, what did I expect?

I used to work on a GYN/Oncology floor and we had several patients transition through our floor who on paper may have been just like Christina.  However, they were nothing like Christina who is perfectly and permanently positive.  A strength that one cannot just prescribe or will upon someone.  Instead, it is embedded in the fighter and I believe it makes all the difference.

Christina has been selected as the beneficiary of The Friendship Paddle and nearly all money raised will go directly to her family.  Please help support Christina.

OK What did I say?

What?

What did I say?

Someone got to my blog searching “pussy.” 

I know they were very disappointed.  When I was 10 years old, I thought pussy was only associated with the sweet little feline four legged fur ball wearing a tail- or not if it had gotten eaten off by the neighbor’s dog.  We had to pick out a team name for our 5th grade field day.  I was in Mrs. Parks’ class.  Parks Panthers?  Parks Smarts?  Parks Tarts?  No..no…Mitchell, yes I remember your name, suggested I offer up Parks Pussy.

All the boys snickered and stared at their shoes.  I didn’t get it.  “Well,” I thought, “I got a couple pussy cats at home, sounds like a good name.”  I walked up to Mrs. Parks.  “I know a good name for our team.”

“Yes, Andrea.”

“Parks Pussy”

“Do you know what pussy means?” Her face said that I clearly didn’t.

“Um,” I thought about it, “Yes, C-A-T.”

“Find a new name.”

Everyone was laughing and I still didn’t get it.  Eventually I did.  Eventually, I used words that made the V-monologue’s blush.  Eventually, I became a women’s health nurse practitioner……….

And now I know why cats like fish.

Youth Spin

Once upon a time I was a substitute teacher.  Once upon a time I thought I might like to be a real teacher.  A few seventh graders cured me crazy and personally installed a healthy super-sized sense of respect for those with the apples on their desks. 

“Hi, I’m your substitute, Miss Schettler…”

“Wat that? Shitler?” snorts and chuckles.  Think that up all on your own did you?  Pink slip.

“Um, teacher.  Um, I was gonna wear that exact outfit today, but you know it don’t match.”  Poof.  I just chewed a mint through a filling.

“Uh, how old are you, cuz, I got sisters and they are older lookin’ than you?”  Wad of paper in my hair.

“Who threw that?” I ask in all the authority of a shaking Chihuahua.  The other teachers, the real teachers, would come in and “take over” rolling their eyes at the battered flesh that stood present at the front of the room, ie, Me aka Sub-stupid.

Today I got to teach a spin class to seventh and eighth graders.  “Oh-ho-ho, welcome to class.  Why didn’t anyone bring water?”

“We don’t need water.”  I’ll ask you again.

I stepped my class down 15 notches and dropped four songs off the workout.  I gave helpful encouragement and tried to instruct with a smile.  I really wanted them to have “fun” and find a love of working out, but I also wanted them to stop small talking and goofing off at the back of the class.  Five minutes into class all the giggles got gone and I had a group of chubby boys sweating at the neckline.  I backed it off even more and gave more cheers for their efforts.  A few smiled thrilled at the experience.  Two just sat on their bikes, but hey, they didn’t interrupt class.

At the end of class they said “thank you” and told me they had had fun.

And nobody called me Shitler.  And if they had…….

A-voiding Waffles

Last night Tom Selleck and I were making deep fried waffles in a dream.

  We started a fire and the alarm went off.  Only it really did go off.  I woke up to the screaming screech of a 4am mechanical blare.  Why?  I have no idea.  Well, since I’m up might as well go potty.

Speaking of potty…(ha, like that opening-completely-unrelated-transition?  If you get to see a picture of Tom, what is the harm?)  I take my kids to a birthday party in Chase Palm Park on Saturday.  It is standard party fun until my son starts peeing rainbow arches into the bushes and my daughter rips off her diaper and dress and runs around nudies wearing a pink hat and throwing her green garment in circles above her head.  I have to kick off my flip flops in the sand to actually catch my two year old, she’s got wheels to match her squeals.  Where do they get this behavior?  Honestly?

Rewind a couple of hours to morning tempo practice.  Hmmmm, it is a 800 grassy repeat day.  My pacing group turns to the obvious running conversation, excrement.  We could talk about birth?  “No! Poop&Pee is fine!” 

“Hey, do you remember when the lady who won Ironman lost control of her bowels at the finish line?”

“Wow, that’s really leaving it all out there.”

“She won and her shit got second.”

“That’s a whole new spin on number 2.”

“No more junk in the trunk.”

Snort-har-har.  Gasp, need more O2.  Hee hee hee.

Carpinteria All Comers 2009 Meet 1

Traffic on the 101?  But I have to get to TRACK!  It’s Friday Night Lights at the Carpinteria All Comers Meet 1.  Bring it!  No seriously come 8 year olds come all, the oval calls.  Van Latham knows how to pony up at party.  Party?  Yeah, shaww-ah, how often can you drop $5 to rip it out in any event you want and see your name glorified on blue paper posted to a shed?  Party on Wayne!

Speaking of Wayne, welcome Carol!  Connection?  None.  Carol journeyed down from Ojai to compete in the 1500 and 800 as practice on her way to club nationals in New York.  “Looks like you got some competition,” Tim says.

Looks fast. Wait…sniff…sniff…smells fast.  I see her little spikey track shoes, must be fast.  Only one way to find out.  1500 line up.  Gun.  Go.  Carol is off, 300 meters 53, Lap 2 72….oh she is fast, but wait….steady now….she is not gaining any ground.  Lap 3 Carol leads me by four good long strides.  I find some magic spot in her blond pony tail and stare at it, glare at it?  Beg it to slow down?  Yes, maybe.  Please, Carol’s pony tail, please-pretty-please-slow down.  Ah-ha, good pony, maybe I got sugar cubes, but entering the 4th lap, I am fairly confident that I can get her.  Final turn I am up to her back and straight away passing to the line.  4:44:81.  That was sooooooooooo much fun!  Not just because I actually won (yes that is fun), but because that was a race!

Carol is a sweetie too and we chatted before the 800 meters.  Considering the guns she threw down on the first two laps of the 1500, I knew I would most likely get beat, but hey here’s to trying.  My legs have an objection, “Excuse me, um…we are tired.  This is our third race this week you crazy-mean-thang.”  Too bad leggies, 800 up!

Gun.  Go.  Carol is off!  67 lap one.  I tucked my chin, I pleaded to the pony, and I watched her glance back at the final turn (extremely motivating…..NOTE: never ever glance back!  It says, “I’m tired and worried.”  Instead run like you glanced back and you saw the beast breathing down your neck, ie ME….beast, “Hi!”).  I put it all into the last straight away and came up 1 second short.  Carol 2:18:54; Drea 2:20:17 Nicely done Carol!  She’s coming back and so am I, what fun it was and I wish her massive luck at nationals!

On the male side of things, Tim and Fred ran a mean 1500 well ahead of moi straight up tying the line: 4:36:76.  Ricky showed up to test out an 800 after a little encouragement.  “I don’t know,” Ricky protests.  Ricky!  Hello!  800m has HO written all over it!  Take away 90% of a race, now just bring out that sick Ricky-Kick and slay the feild.  Easy to say, easier to do, Ricky won with Tim a very close second: 2:13:23 to 2:14:06!  Ed threw down a PR too (2:23:30) and wisely watched the 1500 to make sure his PR would click down.  Nice job Ed!  Terry was there, in street clothes……dang, you look even younger in street clothes.

John and John and others stayed around for the last call 5K/3K, but this mama need her sleep.