Going Home

March 8, 8:14am
I head into the trail for the second leg of the race. The quick visit with my family has buoyed my spirits and given me the confidence to go on. I don't realize yet how fragile my confidence is, though. My bathroom stop almost wasn't necessary making me worry a little about dehydration. Running in cold weather is tricky. You don't always realize how quickly you are losing fluids because you don't feel sweaty and hot like you do when you run in the heat. You can get into trouble fast. I make a mental note to force down more sports drink at each aid stop and to listen to my body if I start getting light headed.

Immediately the trail takes a steep rise, reminding my legs that I've been running two hours. I didn't make it to this part of the trail during my practice run the week before, so I don't know that the next three miles will be the toughest on the course. The path winds higher and higher, sucking the air out of my lungs and forcing me to slow to a crawl. The path is slick, and the wind off the lake is sharper and colder here. It pelts me in the face, making me wince. It blows snow from the tree branches onto my head, surprising me. It has blown over the tracks of the previous runners, making the trail less obvious. The lake is beautiful though. I try to take it in, but can't make myself care about its beauty. I am distracted by the slope of this hill. I am walking again. I just don't have the energy to move any faster. I stretch each leg higher and higher with every step, thinking the trail will drop any minute. It does not. I am reminded of the time we walked up hill to Clingman's Dome in Gatlinburg. My side starts to hurt. I try to ignore it. The sun is bright now. When did the clouds go away? I am bothered that I didn't realize this sooner. I take a step with my right foot and it slides out from under me. I grab a young tree next to the trail and hang on. I don't go down, but it startles me, and I realize how tired I am and how unprepared I am for twelve miles of trail. I have gone only a half mile since the welcome station pit stop, and I simply can't go on. I stand there holding onto the tree, trying desperately not to be frustrated. Just keep moving, Hula. Just keep moving. I cannot force myself to move. I am stuck to the tree, unsure of my next move. I want to go home. I think about how warm my bed is at home and how the world won't end if I bail. But bailing isn't easy. Going back down the trail to the welcome station is not a good option. It's too steep and too dangerous. I have to move forward, but the next aid station is a good three miles away. I just don't think I have the strength to take another step. I wonder how I got so low so fast. My confidence is gone. I feel completely out of my league. I realize I should have trained more. Up ahead I see Phil moving on slowly but surely. Joe is right behind him. I stand in my spot, glued to the tree. I decide to have a little chat with God...again.

8:34am
All I ask for is strength and wisdom. I want to get out of this dadgum forest. I want to MOVE. I am mad at myself...and frustrated. Then it hits me. I finally realize just how much of a role mental focus plays in doing something like this. I thought I knew before now, but I really didn't. I get it now. I know I have lost focus and need to get it together. I make a plan. Just will yourself to get to the top of this hill, Hula, then focus on the next section. Break it down into tiny pieces and chew up each piece slowly. I focus my eyes on the top of the hill, point to the spot I want to be and force myself to turn loose of the tree. I take a step...and then another. It's as if my feet have become unglued. Ha! I am moving again, slowly. I have to pause next to another tree a couple of minutes later but pause only briefly. I press on and somehow, I am at the top of the hill. This forest may kick my butt but not without a fight from me. I see Phil in the distance. Joe is much closer to me. He is holding onto a tree and catching his breath. He moves again, and so do I, grateful for the small downhill slope ahead. It doesn't last long. Another big hill is in front of me, but I have just passed the nine mile marker. I feel a little better. I am a little closer to the aid station.

Mile Marker 10
I have trudged through another mile, stopping to catch my breath in several places but never stopping long. The last mile has been a struggle. I know it will take every ounce of energy and mental strength I have to scratch out the next couple of miles. I am trying to keep my mind focused on anything but the amount of miles left between me and the edge of these woods. I am walking the whole time. I cannot run. My left thigh is throbbing, and I'm hungry. I need an energy gel. I regret giving my fanny pack to Teen Angel back at the welcome station because it was weighing me down. I want to sit down. I think about sitting down. I think about those old movies where people wander around in the dessert or the frozen tundra and die because they sit down and can't get up. I laugh at how dramatic I'm feeling. I want to go home and sit down in my comfy recliner. I reach the top of another hill and smile because a big drop is ahead. Knowing I can make up some time I start running again. Hmm, not so bad. It feels okay. Not good, just okay. I am right behind Joe and he steps aside to let me pass. I can tell he is still struggling. I glance at my watch, realize I'm farther behind than I had hoped and decide not to check the time anymore. A little farther down the trail I suddenly hear pounding behind me and someone shouting, "Passing on the left." I jump off the trail as another runner flies by me. He is obviously on his second lap through the trails. I have just been lapped by a full marathoner. I am in awe. In the next ten minutes, two more runners pass me. One is wearing shorts and moving so fast he is sweating. I think he's the runner from China. He must be doing eight minute miles through these woods on snow and ice. Wow. Again, I feel out of my league, but before I can dwell on it I see the next aid station right in front of me. Please let them have an energy gel.

Aid Station 4
Phil is at the aid station. The volunteer manning the station tells us we're at mile marker eleven. It dawns on me I have to grind out only three more miles in order to finish this thing. Surely, I can handle three more miles, even if I have to walk the entire thing. I want to finish. It does matter if I bail....to me. It really does. I decide not to ask for a ride back to the finish line and watch Phil run down the trail. He seems strong.

I discover that one of the pitfalls of being in the back of the pack is that all of the good snacks are picked over by the time you get to the aid stations. The only flavor of energy gels is raspberry. It doesn't taste anything like raspberry. I suck it down anyway. I drink some water and sports drink but don't take advantage of the porta potty. I worry that I don't have to pee. I take off again. I don't see Joe anywhere behind me. The sun has started to melt a little of the snow on the trail, leaving slushy muddy spots on the course. Mud splashes over the tops of my shoes with every other step, and I am grateful for the duct tape wrapped around my shoes. My feet are dry. I just couldn't take a blister at this point in the game. The trail is easing out now. The hills are smaller and fewer. I start to speed up. Three more runners pass me. They are moving fast. I want to move with their fluidity and speed. I feel clumsy compared to them. Oh well. It doesn't matter. All that matters is finishing, even if I have to drag myself over that finish line. I will do this. I WILL do this.

Mile Marker 12
The gel is starting to kick in, or maybe it's just my confidence coming back. I feel better now. I am running all of the time, even leaping over a small fallen tree. I am almost giddy. I try to focus on the beauty around me but can't. I don't care about the scenery. I quit caring about the scenery some three miles back. I try to sing songs in my head. I write a blog in my head. I make a list of people I need to call. I look for Phil and can barely see him up ahead. I don't see Joe anywhere. I pass the twelve mile marker and shout for joy...out loud. Two more miles. I can do this. I know now that I can do this. In less than a half mile I will be out of the trails and back onto pavement. Sweet, glorious, even pavement. I reach a clearing and realize I'm not far from the trail head. I am moving at an even clip and feel good. I hear someone shouting my number and up ahead I see Hubby standing at the end of the trail. He is waiting for me, shouting me in. God, I love that man. I move even faster. Before I know it I am at the end of the trail. I grab a kiss from Hubby. He offers me water, and I turn it down. A race director asks to see my number. He has to record my lap. I pull up my jacket and show him the #94 pinned to my chest and shout "94". He points to the aid station on my left and tells me I can head right toward the highway and the finish line when I'm ready. I ignore the aid station. Go home, Hula, I think. Go home. Take it on home and finish what you came to do. One point seven miles of running left. That's all. It seems like nothing compared to what I've just done. I start running again.

The Last Mile
As I near the highway I see Phil to my left. He is walking. He has lost his steam. As I near him I tell him I can't imagine doing three more laps like the 50 milers. He laughs and talks about how he's lost his wind. I tell him this was my first half marathon. He says I'm doing great. "You're moving well and you're still smiling," he says. "The first time I ran a half marathon I cried," he tells me. I am grateful for his honesty. I don't feel so bad about my mental breakdown on mile nine. I wave bye and move on. I'm anxious to go home. I hit the highway and start up the hill over the canal. It doesn't seem as tall as it did when I came over it four hours earlier. Hubby drives by me in the van, rolls down the window and whistles at me. I laugh. I have snot running out of both nostrils. The sun has melted most of the ice and snow off the highway. I have a clear path. I start to lose steam about a half mile from the finish line and have to walk for a few yards. Up ahead I see the race volunteer waving me to the right onto the road that will lead me into the tiny town that hosts the finish line. I start to run again. I want to finish running. I no longer feel the throb in my thighs or the dryness in my mouth. I am tired, but I don't feel tired. At this moment I feel like I could run forever. I AM going to finish. I really am. I see my family standing near the finish line with their signs and grass skirts. They start shouting, beckoning me toward the end. I pound away the last steps, waving to them as I pass them and breeze into the path marked by orange cones that takes me across the finish line.


I...am...done. I did it. I shout for joy and immediately ask for my time. I can't resist. Four hours, ten minutes and 47 seconds. An eternity. When the results are posted, I will be near the bottom of my division. I had hoped to come in under four hours, but I am disappointed only for a moment. Teen Angel showers me with balloons and a gift, a white tank top covered in flamingos. I tell them I want a Coke, the real thing, not diet and with lots of ice. Hubby says we'll stop and get one on the way home. "Let's go home," I tell him, smiling. We start across the street when I look up and see Phil coming down the hill. He is headed toward the finish line. "Wait," I say. I start shouting at Phil, telling him to bring it home, telling him what a good job he did. He smiles gratefully as he passes me, and says thank you, thank you. Our eyes connect for a second, and a flicker of understanding passes over his face. He knows what this day means to me. I know what it means to him. I watch him cross the line. I wonder what happened to Joe. I hope he finishes, too. My exhaustion suddenly hits me, and I realize I need to sit down. "Okay, let's go home now," I say. "Let's go home".

And They're Off.....

Saturday, March 8, 3:45am

The alarm clock rings. What an ungodly hour. I've never been good at rising early, but this time my eyes fly open. It seems like I went to bed only a few minutes ago, but really it's been six and a half hours, minus the hour I lost when I woke up at 12:30am and had trouble going back to sleep. The sound of the dog snoring while snuggled next to my hip finally lulled me back to sleep, but it wasn't enough. I feel tired. The race starts in two hours and fifteen minutes. I want more sleep, but I need to leave the house in a little more than an hour to get there in plenty of time. I roll over, peek out the window and see what appears to be about three inches of snow. Not too bad, I think, but then I see the wind wildly flapping our neighbor's flag and feel a little tug at my stomach. I refuse to check the temperature. I don't really want to know. It's obviously cold, so I stick with my original clothing plan, three layers on top, two on the bottom, hats and gloves. I try to eat some oatmeal but it sticks in my throat. Am I really ready for this? I decide to stop second guessing myself and just do it. I tug on my body hugging Under Armor shirt and pants, place a dry wicking shirt on top of that and cover it all up with a wind resistant jacket and pants. Later I'll add the sock cap, ear band and gloves and smear Vaseline on my face. One pair of thin, wicking socks goes on first, then a layer of plastic garbage bag (to keep water away from my feet), then a pair of thick socks and finally my shoes. I've wrapped them in duct tape to keep out snow and water. I double check my fanny pack and my after run bag, and we hit the door.

5:03am

The roads aren't as slick as I thought they would be. They aren't great, but they don't slow us down. By 5:40am we arrive at the race site, a small town nestled between two large lakes. This is a popular tourist destination in the summer, and we will begin our run near a large group of sailboat slips. It is dark, but the first few slivers of light are peeking through the trees. The snow glistens on the road where I will soon be running, and the wind is wicked. The crowd is small, nothing like the 400 who registered to run. I estimate 100 have shown up. The weather has kept many people home. The runners I see milling around look like the die-hard, adventurous kind. I feel like I don't belong. I am out of my league this morning I think, but again, I refuse to think about what lies ahead. Just stick to the plan, Hula. Stick to the plan. Do the best you can and be happy that you tried your best. The world will not end if you don't make the fourteen, I tell myself over and over while I'm hopping up and down to keep from freezing. Runners are dressed in all kinds of garb. I see three people in shorts. Crazy yahoos. There are caps, face masks, colorful shoes and a lot of spandex. I am glad I'm not a man. I'd be worried about more than my fingers and toes. I don't see anyone I know. The locals have stayed home. Various accents swirl around me as people talk about different races they've run across the country and in Canada. They seem very nice but intimidate me. I slide to the very back of the pack. You're supposed to line up according to how fast you are. I know I will be one of the slowest. Besides, I want some folks to knock the snow off the roads before me. I'm afraid of falling, and so are the really strong runners from the way they are talking. My stomach is turning flip flops, and I just want to get started. We start eight minutes late because people are having trouble getting to the site.

6:08am

We're off. The warriors start fast. Everyone else takes it slow with short shuffling paces, looking for breaks in the ice and snow. The crowd surges ahead and starts to separate as people find a comfortable pace. I keep my eyes on the pavement, hoping not to slide and fall. Before I know it, one mile is past me. Seven tenths of a mile more, and we will hit the trails that will cover 11.7 miles of this race course. 11.7 very hard miles. We near the first steep hill, a bridge over the canal with a beautiful view of the lakes. It's mostly daylight now and the snow is spectacular. It occurs to me that God has given me a beautiful gift in the snow. It is untouched and absolutely beautiful. I decide to be grateful and enjoy my surroundings. It's an opportunity to see this area as I've never seen it. As I top the hill, I can see the hot shots already rounding the first curve of the trail. They are shouting and moving fast as they travel along the banks of the lake. The water looks cold. I realize I have to pee. Geez, one mile into the race and I already have to pee. I hit the porta potty at the aid station near the trail entrance. The floor is slick, and I can hardly stand. When I'm finished, I take a deep breath and hit the ground running. It's time to tackle the trail. The trail is narrow and forces runners to run single file. Most of them are already ahead of me, but I don't think about that. I keep my eyes on the ground. The first runners have already pounded down the snow which is deeper here than it was at home. Some of the drifts are about six inches deep. The trail is snow covered and slick. I will need to be very careful if I don't want to go home with a broken bone. Surprisingly, I quickly find a rhythm and start to get more comfortable with the snow. I'm not cold. My body has warmed up, and my layers are working. However, every now and then the wind blows off the lake and smacks me in the face. I keep thinking about how good it will feel to finish..if I finish. Before I know it, I've hit the second mile marker.

6:45am

The hills are getting steeper. I know what to expect though, since I ran this part of the trail last weekend (when it was 65 degrees), and I pace myself well. I'm feeling a little winded by the third mile marker but still doing okay. I feel a little stitch in my side, but I ignore it. I'm moving well, and my muscles feel okay. I glance around every now and then to enjoy the view. It really is beautiful. The lake glistens in the early morning daylight and laps loudly against the shore. All I can hear is the waves, my footsteps and my breathing. I'm feeling very alive and very spiritual. The snow has softly blanketed the trees and ground, and I feel lucky to be a part of such an exclusive group of folks traveling through this isolated area. I am surprised I don't long for warmer weather.

Mile Marker 4

It's getting tougher. The trail twists and turns along the lake and rises at steep angles. I'm getting tired. Crap. I have a long way to go. It's too early to feel tired. Try not to thing about it Hula. Just keep moving. As I skip over the third small creek of the morning the trail takes me along a clearing where I picture deer crossing. Sure enough, a few yards farther down the path I see fresh deer tracks. Ahead of me are two men. They appear to be in their late fifties or early sixties. They are like me, obviously not worried about time, just trying to make the miles. The first is wearing an orange sock cap. The second is wearing old green sweat clothes and and moves with a slightly lopsided gait. I wonder if he's had hip surgery. I don't know it yet, but I will travel with these men for most of the race. I see the second man slip and it scares me, but he doesn't go down. He keeps moving....and so do I. We hit the first aid station at mile marker five.

Mile marker 5

It takes me by surprise because it sits at the top of a hill. Me, orange sock cap man and green sweats stop for some sports drink and water. I feel my energy ebbing, so I take an energy gel out of my fanny pack and squeeze it down. Blech. It's nasty and kind of gags me, but I keep eating it. I need the sustenance. I have a long way to go. I overhear a conversation and realize the woman sitting in the nearby pickup truck has broken her ankle. Her running buddy is waiting with her for the ATV that will cart her out of the woods. She seems to be in incredible pain and is trying not to cry. I am reminded of how easy it is to get hurt today. Some of my ease with the slick trail disappears. I take off again, right after orange sock cap man. I decide to call him Phil in the conversations that play throughout my head as I slug through the woods. I nickname sweat suit man, Joe. We move on, slowly, more slowly than I anticipated. I expected to hit the seven mile marker in an hour and a half, but I realize I'm not going to make it. The trail is getting steeper and steeper and I'm getting tired. I slow down a little. So do Phil and Joe. My family is planning to be at the halfway point to give me some encouragement, and I know I won't be there by 7:30am when they are expecting me. I trudge on. I finally hit mile six and hit a wall in my head. I am very tired, and I know there is another particularly bad hill before I hit the aid station at mile seven. It is a breath taker, and I'm not sure how I will stand it. I am way more tired than I expected to be at this point, and I start to lose confidence. For the first time I start to doubt if I can do this. I hate it when that happens. I know my mental strength is important if I'm to finish all fourteen miles, and I don't need to let the doubts seep in. They will undermine my determination. Phil starts to pull away from me somewhat as I slow down even more. I cross a road and realize I'm at the foot of the big hill. I stop for a few seconds, pace around a little and try to get my mind right. "Just do it, *$#@ it," I tell myself and take off, but not as fast as I'd like. In fact, I have to begin walking just a few yards into the hill. It's a booger. It is kicking my butt, and I begin to feel emotional. I cry when I'm mad. Do not cry, Hula. Do NOT cry. This is no time for tears. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Remember, time doesn't matter. I shuffle along, sometimes walking, sometimes jogging. I cross a small creek and say a quick prayer that my feet don't get wet. Wet feet would be a disaster. I decide to start praying. I list every sick person, cancer patient, bereaved soul, senior citizen and coworker I can think of. I can't escape the fact that my left thigh is throbbing. I walk. I jog. The hills goes on. I hit the seven mile marker and realize I have misjudged the distance of the welcome station where my family will be waiting. I look at my watch. I am going to be even later than I thought. I know they will worry. God, this is harder than I thought it would be. I really am not sure I can do this. I debate whether I should quit when I hit the welcome station. Phil pulls farther ahead. Joe slows down, and I pass him. I hear his heavy breathing and realize he is struggling, too. Who's he talking to in his head, I wonder. My thigh throbs more. I realize I should have logged longer runs before I tried this. Oh well. Too late now. Just keep moving.

8:00am

I have now been at this for almost two hours. I pass the eight mile marker and wonder when I will see the welcome station. I am walking now, not jogging. I'm so very tired...and frustrated. I keep putting one foot in front of the other, trying to scale the slippery slope ahead of me. My breathing is labored. This is not good. I know I have started to lose focus, but I can't seem to get it back. I am trudging along when I look toward the top of the hill and see a few people. I look away, not wanting to take my eyes off the trail, which is riddled with roots. I just want to get to the top so I can stop. I glance up again and realize my family is standing at the top, waiting for me. It's just them. They have stood in the freezing cold for an hour waiting on me. When I see them I start to get emotional again. I am so lucky to have people who love me enough to get up at the butt crack of dawn and stand in the snow drifts and bone chilling wind to cheer me on. They see me and start yelling. I start running. I am so glad to see them, Hubby, Teen Angel and Sissy, all bundled up in their winter garb. They seem awfully colorful though. Oh my God! What do they have on? As I get closer, I realize they are dressed in grass skirts and leis and are waving signs with a Hula Girl theme.

I can't believe it. What a beautiful sight! I am overcome with emotion. I realize how much they love me and support me in every wacky endeavor I do. I am so lucky. I want to cry. I almost cry, but I choke back the tears. I get closer and read their "Team Parrothead" signs and start to laugh. They are hilarious, penned the night before with supplies bought by Mama J., my first sponsor. Before I know it I'm at the top of the hill. I grab Teen Angel and kiss her head. Hubby and Sissy gets hugs and kisses, too. I am at the welcome station, and I relax. We laugh and chat for a minute. I learn that Teen Angel is the instigator of this welcome party. I also learn that I'm the only one with that kind of welcome party. They tell me other runners seemed jealous and asked if they could be on "Team Parrothead", too. My family has been cheering on dozens of grateful runners before I staggered into sight. Normally, well wishers would line the roadways. Not today. The weather scared them off. All of them...except my family. I get another round of kisses and head to the aid station for a pee stop and some sports drink. I am rejuvenated and decide to go on. I don't tell my family that I thought about quitting. I enter the trail again, motivated to move on. Their colorful love fest has raised my spirits, but the feeling won't last. Within a half mile, I will be in trouble.

To be continued.......

Ready, Set......

Whew! We escaped the first round of snow with nary a flurry. However, the second round has moved in, and there are plenty of flakes in the air. See.

The forecast says up to six inches, but I’m hoping for no more than three. This stuff isn’t supposed to end until early tomorrow morning, so I won’t have any idea what I’m dealing with until I wake up in the morning. I’ll be doing the dance of joy if this system slides north and we get little accumulation. One thing’s for sure, the wind is a killer right now, and it needs to die down significantly in the next twelve hours or it could be a real problem. I’m planning for the worst and hoping for the best.

Ear band-check
Sock cap-check
Vaseline to protect and warm face-check
Chap stick-check
Neck gaiter-check
Under Armor, top and bottoms-check
Dry weave shirt-check
Wind pants-check
Wind jacket-check
Gloves-check
Hand warmers-check
Thin socks-check
Thick socks-check
Plastic bags to layer between socks-check
Extra socks-check
Trail shoes-check
Duct tape to insulate and waterproof trail shoes-check
Racing bib-pick up before 5:30am
Energy gels-check
Bananas-check ($1.39 a pound today!)
Smart Water-Hubby is picking up
Bag of dry, clean clothes-check
Fanny pack-check
Mental health evaluation-postponed

Out In The Cold

This fourteen mile Trail Run coming up Saturday is a rain or shine event. It’s going to take place regardless of the weather conditions since there are people flying in from all over the county for it. Here’s the thing..our weather forecast for this weekend stinks…to high heaven. Stinks like a pig’s fanny. Like a two hole outhouse in August. Like a school cafeteria on kraut and wiener day. It‘s bad. It started going downhill at the beginning of the week and just keeps getting worse. I’ve worn out the refresh tab on my computer checking in with AccuWeather. And Ticketmaster-Jimmy Buffett tickets went on sale Monday. I could use a little Margaritaville because here’s what the weather service is saying about our weather:

Friday: Winter Storm Watch. Windy, cold and wet with 1 to 3 inches of snow. Wind chill of 34 degrees.
Friday night: 1 to 3 MORE inches of blowing snow. Low in the 20’s.
Saturday: Breezy and cold. Wind chill of 25 degrees.

You know, something like this…

Here’s what I’m hearing: Blah, blah, blah, sunny and warm….blah, blah, blah, UV index of 34…blah, blah, blah, heat advisory…blah, blah, blah, light southerly breezes.

You know, something like this….

Jiminy Cricket! It’s going to be ugly at 6am Saturday. I’ll have to layer up and peal off as I warm up…if I warm up. Thank the Lord for Under Armor. I went to Wal-Mart to buy a new sock cap since my old one is stretched out. The only ones I could find had NASCAR emblems on them. Nice. I finally dug a plain, black one out of the 70 cent clearance bin. There are two positives I see in this mess. Number one-I’ll have to move faster to stay warm (and to avoid all that snot slinging), so my time might be better than anticipated. Number two-I’m so slow some 300 runners should be ahead of me knocking the snow off the trails for me. Remind me again why I thought this would be fun.

The Curiosity Factor

I once supervised a young reporter who was well known for asking Bill Clinton a most unusual question. A few years before she came to work for me, she stood up at a campaign forum and asked the then presidential candidate, “Boxers or briefs, sir?” It was the question heard round the world at the time, and she always seemed rather proud of it. I didn’t understand why since it struck me as ridiculous. You get the attention of the future president of the United States and the only thing you can think to ask him is what kind of underwear he wears? What a missed opportunity. However, I do understand the curiosity factor. I’d be less than honest if I didn’t admit that I have all kinds of trivial questions for well known people, stuff that doesn’t matter but I’d really like to know, mostly because I’m nosey. For instance:

1. Does the Pope ever get to wear pants?
2. What did Paris Hilton score on her ACT test?
3. Does Amy Winehouse’s head itch from all the drugs and hairspray?
4. Does Richard Simmons ever eat donuts?
5. Has Oprah ever been overdrawn on one of her checking accounts?
6. Did Mr. Rogers ever swear?
7. How much plastic surgery has Wayne Newton had?
8. How did John McCain hook up with such a hot looking wife?
9. How much does Donald Trump pay for that bad haircut?
10. Is Barrack Obama tired of smiling yet?
11. Is Al Gore secretly glad now that he didn’t get elected then?
12. Does President Bush ever want to just sit down and cry when he’s having a bad day, or week or month?
13. How much ice cream do Ben & Jerry eat?
14. Does Nicole Ritchie have stretch marks now?
15. Does JLo have stretch marks now?
16. Does Matthew McConaughey wear boxers or briefs?

Okay, your turn now. What useless, nosey information do you want to know?

Blessed Be the Tie That Binds

Dear Lord,
Forgive me, for I have sinned…again. It’s been umm..24 hours since my last confession. Can I get some kind of rewards card for stopping by so often? You know, like frequent flier miles? First of all, let me say I’m really sorry for that ugly word that slipped out of my mouth this morning when the soda machine was out of Diet Coke. It was early, I was sleepy and dadgum it, it was the second day in a row that I had to settle for Coke Zero. I know it shouldn’t matter, and I should be happy that I live in a place where I have fresh, clean water at my fingertips, but it did matter..and I wasn’t very nice about it. I’ll try to do better tomorrow.

I really liked what you did with the weather over the weekend. That sunny 73 degree trick you pulled was pretty snappy, and I was kind of hoping you could do it again this Saturday, if it’s not too much trouble. You see, I have this loooong race that starts at 6am and right now the forecast is calling for temperatures to be in the upper 20’s about that time. That’s a wee bit chilly for this summer baby, and I’d love it if you could kick things up a notch…or two…or three. If it’s really cold, I’ll be slinging snot all morning long, and let’s not get into that whole porta-potty thing. Anyway, whatever you could do about the weather would be greatly appreciated by my extremities. Couldn’t we swap with Argentina for the day? Okay. Okay. Just asking.

I’m pleading for a little wisdom today. This teenager thing is killin’ me. I don’t know if I have the strength for all the drama that comes with raising a fifteen year old girl and an overprotective husband. He can’t let go, and she’s shredding apron strings faster than I can tie them. She can’t even date yet, and it’s already crazy. Was I that emotional when I was that age? Whew. I didn’t think so. What? Maybe a little? Surely not? Well, remind me to double check with Mama on that one. I really don’t think I was, but you da’ man. If you say it’s so, it must be.

Speaking of Mama, help me to be patient with her in the coming week. She’ll be like a worm in hot ashes right before Super Cop’s wedding, and I get snappy with her when she gets all twitchy and doesn’t just relax and have a good time. Help us ALL to be patient with Papa T. and his bad attitude toward the cane. That little incident at Logan’s Steakhouse was downright childish, and I thought Sissy was going to whack him with that cane. Always help me to be mindful of how tough it is to lose your hearing, vision and independence. Well, I gotta’ go. I have to squeeze in a little more stretching tonight. Gotta’ keep those calves loosened up for Saturday. Clear your calendar for a long chat with me Saturday morning, say three hours or so. I have a feeling I’m going to be doing a lot of praying that day. You might want to prepare yourself. I may talk your ear off. Bless all the starving children, our soldiers in harm’s way and the old folks who are choosing between groceries, heat and medicine this week. And God Bless Coca-Cola.

Amen.

Bottom of The Bag

The bottom of my purse never ceases to amaze me. I go digging around in there at least three times a day and take my life into my own hands each time. The mixture of stuff that accumulates in there is an amazing array of animal, mineral and protein. I’m not even sure how most of it gets in there. For an accessory that is designed to hold money and essential papers it sure does contain a lot of crap.

Here’s a small sample of what I found in there today: A half eaten roll of SweeTarts, nasal spray, stinky lotion from a Tennessee hotel, an empty tube of hand sanitizer that came from a goody bag at a charity event, a blue bead of unknown origin, five old sticky cough drops, an empty Dramamine bottle and twelve old receipts. Also, three kinds of sinus medication, a pair of gold earrings in a jewelry box and an appointment book I’ve never used. We won’t discuss the thirteen packets of Sweet ‘N Low or random orange flavored Tic Tacs rolling around in the bottom.

This is a good day. I’ve pulled all kinds of stuff out of there before, especially when Teen Angel was younger. I’ve reached in and found baby food, toys, teethers, dog collars, half eaten suckers, Cheerios and at least one stale Circus Peanut. Peer into a mother’s purse and you can likely guess exactly how old her children are. I can’t blame the Circus Peanut on her, though, I found that in there just a couple of months ago. I ate it, too. I’m sorry.

My mother in law used to carry the queen mother of all purses. She should have been on Let’s Make A Deal. No matter what you needed, she had it. You could be in the middle of a dessert and need an ice cube, and she’d have at least six in the bottom of her pocketbook. When they’ll hold five pounds or more of stuff they are no longer a purse. They are a pocketbook. Pocketbooks are usually black and carried by women over fifty years old. It usually contains at least one plastic rain bonnet and two tubes of Mocha Berry lipstick. Mama J. had to give up the big purse when she started using a walker. She now carries a much smaller purse that won’t topple off the seat of her walker when she’s moving. She misses the pocketbook. I can tell.

I think girls are groomed at a very early age to carry a purse. We become attached to them very quickly and get separation anxiety if we’re away from them too long. On the rare occasion I roll without a purse, I feel empty handed, like I’ve forgotten something. It goes with me everywhere and becomes a vessel for anything my family doesn’t want to hold. Then I go for months without cleaning it out. I’m not alone on this, though. At a wedding shower one time we played “Dump Your Purse”. You got a point for each of the items on the host’s list that you had in your purse. One woman had all 22 items, including the duct tape and screwdriver. It’s amazing what a woman’s purse contains. It’s amazing what my purse contain on any given day. It’s a shame it doesn’t contain any money.