are floaties allowed?

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

I am going to talk about it.

When I had one while running the other day I realized I simply can't deny their existence any longer.  
I just didn't know.  I mean, I didn't have a clue.  They can happen at any time. Without any warning.  Day.  Night.   Anywhere.  No matter where you are going. No matter what you are doing.  Even if you are running.   I am talking about..... > gulp < flashes.  There.  I said it. 

 I had heard about hot flashes.  Yeah, yeah....middle aged women get a little overheated for a minute.  Big deal. So what?  That was then.  This is now.  Now I am sitting on the couch watching my story (sidebar:  d*** you, ABC, for cancelling my story.  I will never, ever forgive you.  Since high school, no matter what I've ever had going on in my life, no matter where I was living or what I was doing, I knew at one o'clock I could always go to Pine Tad and Dixie, Adam and Stuart, Jenny and Greg....and my world would be all right for an hour.  My world would be marriages and divorces, affairs and scandals, deaths and you just think they're dead deaths.   I will miss you deeply, Pine Valley.) watching my story, taking a sip of my afternoon coffee, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, without any warning, Mount Vesuvius erupts.   In my body.   I am completely covered in sweat. Tad is still there telling Dixie has has always loved her even though yes, he did marry Cara,  but I am now watching them is soaking wet clothes.   Or I am at work, having a discussion with  my coworkers in the hall when I feel it begin.   Oh, no.  Not now.  Dear god, not here,  From deep, deep within it starts.  Heat.  So much heat.   Getting hotter.  And hotter.  Rising to the surface.  Hotter and hotter still.  My boss is standing there talking.  I am so hot. I focus on his mouth.  Words are coming out.  So hot.  Sweat starting.  Sounds coming out of his mouth.  I am trying  hard to concentrate so  he doesn't know I have not heard one word he's said and the whole time he has been talking  all I want to do is take that big cup of ice water out of his hand and dump it all over my head.  Or at night when I wake from a sound sleep. For a minute I don't know why I am awake.  But just for a minute.  Because in the next minute I am cursing, throwing the covers off,    furious we don't have 1200 thread count sheets, drenched from head to toe, waking my husband, mad at him for still being cool and comfortably asleep and demanding that he blast more fans on me.

My poor husband   He is such a sweetie.  I can count on one hand the number of times he has made a negative comment about my appearance (present hair strike excluded).   So I know it's bad, real bad, when he reaches over to me and the word "eeww" involuntarily escapes his mouth when he touches my unexpectedly sweaty skin.  And as I explained to him, no, it doesn't really help that it was involuntary.

Hot flashes.  Even while running.  Maybe I'll have a tee shirt made for the triathlon:  One Hot Momma.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Why do animals hate me?  No, seriously, what did I ever do that animals hate me so much?

I fancy myself a cyclist now.  I am not really a cyclist, I just fancy myself one.  As such, I have become quite ambitious on my biking days.  Yesterday was my biking day.  And I was ambitious. 

I looked at a map before I left home.   Looked at the map.  Saw straight lines and squiggle lines and street names.  They meant nothing to me.  But at least I looked at it. 

I hit the road.  I biked and biked and biked.  I pushed myself to go faster, harder, farther.  I went up hills, I went down hills.  I went up some more hills, I went down some more hills.  I was flying on my bike.  Another hill coming up, no prob.  Pump the pedals, change the gear, head up the hill.  Literally two seconds into the hill I realize it is not a hill.  It is not even hidden Mount Everest.  It is a vertical cliff.  I am  attempting to climb an actual vertical line.  I would have better luck getting up this hill if I had ropes and a carabiner.   I get about halfway up and see writing on the road.  What?  Why is there writing on the road?  I get closer.   "Tough hill."  It says tough hill right there on the road.  This hill is so bad that someone has actually taken the time to come out and write a warning on it.  Great.  

By some miracle I make it to the top of Tough Hill.  Without dying.   I am shaking and sweating and breathing at a rate which is incompatible with life.  I decide to take a break.  I see a beautiful sprawling farm to my right with rolling pastures and white fences and horses.  I get off the bike, walk over to the fence, lean my arms against it.    See horses off in the distance.  (sidebar:  I am afraid of horses.  I am also afraid of sunflowers.  For the same reasons.  They are both unnaturally big and tower over you.  I have a recurring nightmare:  I am all alone, lost in a sunflower maze.  Seriously, to me this is a nightmare).  But these are pretty horses way over there.  Get my water bottle out.  Take a swig of cool, refreshing water.  Wipe the sweat from my brow.  Try to regroup.   See the horses off in the distance start to walk.   Slowly.  See the horses start to walk slowly in my direction.  See the horses start to walk faster.  Hear the horses.  Hear the horses CLOMP CLOMPING.  Over to me.  Walking faster.  And faster.  Galloping is pretty much what they are doing now.   Galloping.  Galloping toward me.  And making noises.  Not cute little neigh, neigh, whinny noises.  No.  Not at all.  They are  snorting.  Like bulls.  Like raging bulls.  Two snorting raging bull horses galloping straight towards me.  I fumble to get my helmet back on my head, grab my water bottle and start to run back to my bike.  I trip over something. I look down.   Horse poop.  Everywhere.  I am in a minefield of horse poop with two raging bull horses on the attack.

Why?  Why do animals hate me?

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

I am on hair strike.  Hair strike is not pretty.  Hair strike is the refusal to put even the teeniest bit of effort into doing my hair.  It needs to be cut, colored and styled. Until then, hair strike.  I will be glad when hair strike is over.  I am betting those who actually have to look at me will be even more glad when hair strike is over.

Hair v. triathlon.  I chose triathlon.  (Hence, hair strike).  

Today was a bike - swim - bike day.   Random, I know.

 The public pool has two adult swim lanes.  The other lanes are occupied by kids of various ages learning how to swim.    The girl in the lane next to me had no interest whatsoever in listening to her  instructor let alone actually swimming.  This redheaded, freckle-faced firecracker kept me entertained with her antics the whole time I was in the pool.

Kids crack me up.  You just never know they are going to do or say.  Their perspective on life is so unique.  One day at work I had a patient who was about four or five.  We spent the whole morning together.  I was doing a test on her to see if she was lactose intolerant.  It's a simple test.  You drink some sugar water that has lactose in it then every half hour you breathe into a mask.  I collect these breathing samples, put them into a machine and if the numbers jump up you are lactose intolerant and if they don't, you're not.  Simple.  The test takes about four hours.    I love this part of my job because 1. nothing hurts, 2.  I get to spend lots of time with the kids and 3. I get to throw lactose parties with champagne glasses and tiaras.  (well, yes, some of the boys have mentioned it might be nice to have another headdress option but they look so cute in their little tiaras).  So this little girl and I bonded over sugar water.  At one point during the morning we were sitting next to each other.  She reached over and grabbed the ID hanging from the lanyard around my neck.  She looked at the picture of me on my ID.  She looked up at me.  She looked at my picture.  She looked back up at me.  Very matter-of-factly and quite nonjudgementally she said: "oh, so you used to be a man."  OK.  Wow.

Maybe hair strike was not the right choice.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

I thought my blogging days were over.  But today was just too much.

Went out for a bike ride.  (Sidebar:  I am still biking.  And, believe it or not, I am still swimming.  Yes, dear 16 followers and 2 lurkers, I am thinking about doing another triathlon.  I know, I know....crazy, right??  See, the thing is, I have the Zoot suit.  The precious, precious Zoot suit.  I feel I absolutely must wear it one more time.   And where else can I wear it but another triathlon?  I can't exactly throw that thing on and go to the library or the grocery store. Plus, I figure I've worked this hard to get in some sort of shape I might as well take advantage and rack up another tri-shirt.  Maybe it will even be pink again.  There are several factors holding me back, however.  First and foremost, the swim is a half mile.  Which is exactly double the Stone Harbor distance.  Double.  As in twice as far.  And we all know how I feel about swimming.  Not exactly double the distance double the fun. Secondly, I don't actually have a bike that I could use.  That's a wee bit of a problem.  Thirdly, and probably the biggest obstacle, it turns out that triathlons are not free.  There is a registration fee.  Which is not a small amount.  I mean, I can't scrounge around in the cushions and on the car floor and come up with it.  (Once again, can I just thank Carla and Amy for being so wonderful?  They shielded me from this little fact when they entered me into the SH triathlon).  See, timing is an issue.  I need my hair done.  (Men, bear with me here, you will have no idea what I'm talking about).  Cut, color, maybe some highlights to make me feel better about having hot flashes.  (This is an entirely separate matter that I am absolutely not ready to talk about).  The cost of the triathlon is also the cost of having my hair done.  Hair / triathlon.  Hair / feeling better about myself now vs. triathlon / feeling better about myself later.  Thoughts?)

A few things happened on my bike ride.

Number one:
       I got lost.  Not just I took a little wrong turn and will be back on course if I take the next right lost, but really, really lost.  As in two hour bike ride instead of a half hour bike ride lost.  Now, getting lost is not a new thing for me.  I get lost a lot.  No, I mean a real lot.  Chances are if I go off my street I will get lost.  I have less than zero sense of direction. I can't even begin to count the number of times it has taken me twice as long to get somewhere as it should because I have veered off course so badly.  The good thing is I don't get that panicky lost feeling any more...I know I will get there eventually.   My husband, bless his heart, has tried to instill in me some tiny semblance of a sense of direction.  Where I am in relation to the sun, for example.  If I know where the sun is in relation to me, he says,  I can figure out which way I should be heading.  What he cannot comprehend is that even if I know where I am in relation to the sun I still have no idea if I will need to go north, south, east or west to get to where I am going.  He simply cannot understand this.  And I can't explain it.  Cannot read a map, either.  We love each other.  But we could never, ever go on The Amazing Race together.

Number two:
      I met a falconer.  Ok, he was more a bird-watcher than an actual falconer....there were no hoods or big gloves involved.  He had a tripod, a really big telescope, binoculars and a camera.  I saw this man when I still knew where I was.  Or so I thought.  At least I knew I was still in Simsbury.  Naturally, I stopped to ask him what he was doing.  Any excuse to take a break and this looked like a good one.  He enthusiastically showed me the mommy and daddy falcons through his telescope.  Real falcons!  He pointed out the baby falcon nest.  They were hiding so no baby sightings.  I chatted with the falconer for a bit but given my, shall we say, colorful history with large birds I decided it was best for all if I move on.

Number three:
     I saw a deer who thought it was a dog.  At some point during my ride I was, well, I don't know where I was, but it had fields and hills and rolling meadows.  It was beautiful.  I was also hallucinating from dehydration so maybe it was really a  vast wasteland and I just thought it was beautiful.  I rounded a turn and could see forever.  Off in the distance I saw a dog frolicking through a field.  I am on heightened dog alert because I want another dog.  I think. But maybe not.  Anyway, I find myself drawn to dogs lately.  So I was looking forward to catching up to the dog and maybe petting it.  What kind of dog is that I wondered.  Maybe a border collie, it's running pretty fast.  I bike and bike and finally get closer to the dog.  There is a little row of bushes on the edge of the field.  By the time I reach it the dog is behind the bushes.  I slow down.   The dog peeks his head out.  The dog is a deer.  The deer looks at me. I look at him.  He barks.  I am not kidding.  The deer barked then turned around and galloped back down the field.

Number four:
     The older man I stopped to help tried to pick me up.  Not pick me up like I fell off my bike and he was helping me back up but pick me up as know....pick me up.  I saw an older gentleman a few miles into my bike ride.  It was clear he had been running but he was now limping along the side of the road.  I slowed my bike as I approached him but he waved at me and yelled a hearty hello.  Ok, I guess he's fine.  I biked on.  Ages later, after the falconer, after the deer dog, after the hallucinations, when I was finally back on somewhat familiar terrain yet still far from home I saw the same older gentleman but this time he was limping along the side of the road and holding his hands up for me to stop.  So I stopped.  But he wasn't holding his hands up for me to stop.  He was holding his hands up to take a picture with the cellphone he had in his hands.  He pointed to the clouds and the tops of the trees and how pretty a picture it was.  He introduced himself.  He showed me more pictures he had taken along various runs throughout the country.  He has been running for 30 years.  He asked me where I had just biked.  I told him I couldn't really tell him.  Because I had no idea.  We chatted for a bit more.  He told me all about a nice run he had taken on a recent trip to Cape Cod.   I thought I was having a pleasant little conversation with a nice older gentleman   He asked me if I was married.  Ok, this can still be considered pleasant little chit-chat, right?  Yes, I am married.  Oh, then never mind my next question, he says.  What??  Eeewwww.   Listen, old man, I stopped because I thought you were dying, ok??  Not because I am single and looking for a date and thought what better way to meet someone than to take a two hour bike ride and maybe, just maybe at some point along the way I will meet an eligible older man limping along the side of the road.  I mean, seriously, what the heck??

Oh, dear 16 followers and 2 lurkers, it is so nice to see you again.  I seem to have so many adventures when you are around.