100 mile “practice”

11 02 2011

You’ve heard of marathons. Of course you have, those 26.2 oval stickers are breeding like wildfire on the backs of SUV’s everywhere these days, but have you noticed the stickers with numbers bigger than 26.2? Those are “Ultra” marathons, the new badge of honor. They’re typically 50K’s, or even 50 miles, or the grand poobah: 100 milers. (Although I bet there’s someone somewhere who’s hosted a race longer than 100 mi.) 

Mr Geauxgirl and I have worked an aid station for a 100 miler in the past. We used to “run” (term used loosely– much beer involved— and Delightful was there too) with a fella who actually set the course record for one of these jobbies seven or eight years running. He also had legs that were up to about my armpits, and kinda just loped along– his one step was about 3 or 4 of mine, and I’m about 5′ 6″. The majority of folks coming through at mile 85 were just brok-ted. As in likely causing irreparable harm.

Enter into the fray another friend of ours – we’ll call him “This Guy”. This Guy started “running” with us (the beer variety), then somehow he caught the Running bug that we managed to successfully avoid. (Well, “we” meaning me. I still don’t run unless I’m chased. Hubby has done 2 marathons, but his training regimine to get to 26.2 miles consists of about a month’s worth, where training for a month means I can go twice around the block without stopping instead of once around.) He also worked this overnighter aid station, and we together tsk-tsk’d (and awed) at the extremity of how much people voluntarily will put themselves through.

So my point?

Our friend, This Guy, a fellow scant 5′ 6″-er with legs to match, just completed a 100 miler over superbowl weekend.

He posted about it here, including a short video.

While I did read Born to Run recently (fascinating), plus I confess to owning 3 pair of Vibram Five Finger shoes (new jayas!), at the same time we’ve already established that I’m no runner. But I am a yogini. And part of what we yammer about (sometimes endlessly!) is that ours is a “practice”. As in, you get to “practice” managing your body and mind’s reactions to putting your body and mind through a self-induced stressful situtation in a safe place, so that your “practice” in dealing with stresses comes in handy when you step off your mat too.

Well lo and behold, watching his video during the run itself, he’s doing the same damn thing. Hmph. Looks to me like runners are closeted yogi’s, only with tighter hamstrings.

Rock on, friend. Now sit down and eat a bag o’ chips already, will ya? (Beer highly recommended too.) And next time you come for a visit, I’ll lend you my mat so you can work on those hamstrings.

yup! this guy....


it’s not about YOU, it’s about THEM

25 01 2011

When someone’s horribly injured, or terminally ill, it seems I hear an astonishing number of people say that they didn’t go see someone because they don’t want to remember someone “that way”.


I’m all for honoring yourself and your limits, but come on. Get over yourself. Yes, I clearly remember her discomfort, her puffy face, her scant scraggly bits of remaining hair, the flaky grey skin that wasn’t quite hers, and even at the end: her struggles, sweats, and gasps.

Yes, that memory is very clear. Crystal clear. But so what?

I loved her. Any discomfort I might have of what images might linger wasn’t diddly squat compared to what she was up against. There are loads of other memories. It wouldn’t have even crossed my mind to NOT be there. How could it?

She needed comfort. Most especially right at those very moments. And what a privilege for me to be able to be there and hold her hand, stroke what was left of her hair, breathe with and maybe even FOR her at times, and speak soothing memories and comforts to her as she endured the pain and fear until she was freed into the big peaceful unknown. Most of us aren’t so lucky– squashed on the highway, heart-attack alone, and if you’re one of the lucky ones you’re in a home for years and years only to end up choking on the mashed peas– I just hope I’m as lucky to have that kind of love surrounding me when it’s my time.

As awful as those long minutes were, and as much as I wanted them to pass, both for her to be out of discomfort and for myself to be out of it too, at the same time I wanted to hold onto every last precious second we had together.

So yeah, I remember. Some may call those images ugly. And I suppose they are in some ways.

But I see it differently.

Sure, I still cry when those images come. Because they were beautiful.

i get on my own nerves too, don’tchu worry

19 01 2011

I’m an only child.

Well, sorta.

I do have a baby half-brother. He’s a full 15 years behind me, so in essence, we’re BOTH only children. I was out of the house before he was out of diapers, plus mother was a completely different person by then, with different circumstances, etc, as you might guess.

So now that she’s gone, I’ve become the matriarch, and therefore also the mother figure. Which is fine. Really. He’s really one of the sweetest souls I know. He’s got his own problems and gets in his own way, but then again don’t we all?

Point being, I confess: sometimes it’s hard to not be annoyed. And DAMN, I know it shows, no matter how hard I try for it not to.

It’s my problem, not his. I didn’t have the prep time of having the baby/toddler/kid/tween/teen progression beforehand, I just skipped straight from baby to Young Adult. And my official “I’m Practicing Kindness” mindset this year mandates that I not only of course show kindness and patience to him as his inner-self grows to match his size 13 shoes, but also that I show kindness and patience to myself as I adjust too.

Just the same, it makes me realize that what I found mildly irritating, is likely because on some level I cringe that I probably used to do whatever that is too (and please GAWD, hopefully I have grown out of it otherwise I wouldn’t be recognizing it in him when it goes awry.). All minor things, none of which are a crime of course, but still, *sigh*.

And yeah, even still: every now and then, just like watching him, I also watch myself. I see my own lips flapping, and I am powerless to stop my own annoying self. I’m choosing to find it “mildly, charmingly, annoying”. (I’m trying really hard here, work with me…)

Pesky “witness”.

Phone conversations rather than face-to-face might have something to do with it, but fortunately so far, I think I’ve been pretty good with him not noticing the occasional eyeroll.

The Witness agrees.


And that is all for tonight.

infinite pixels

8 01 2011

Who knew taking a photo a day would be so challenging? I see 1000+ things to take a pic of, but either camera is never nearby, or I’m stuck using my smartphone camera (complete with one broken button and a second completely missing button).

Still. It’s fun to see a tiny pixel of my day.

don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know

7 01 2011

Site stats. How many viewers, from where, how long, blah blah. They can make a desperate little crack whore out of a reasonably rational mind.

I ADORE the comment interaction. But I really don’t want to know about clicks. I vow not to look at any site stats for a month. I mean really, you don’t want to know either. All it does is make you twitchy.

So stop. Else you end up doing the twitchy junkie shuffle.


1 01 2011

My friend Delightful Eccentric did a pic a day in 2010. She had a great time, but may or may not continue, we’ll see. In the meantime, I’ve been meaning to take/post more photos, so I’m sorta stealing her idea.

My pics will be here, and there’s a handy dandy link at the right too, for your clicking and viewing convenience.

Say cheese.

slacker, nix that, GOLD STAR ME, BABY!

31 12 2010

Last year I had a helluva time at New Year’s. Was thinking of oye-f’in-vey mess that ensued in 2009, and all the heartbreak that went with it. This year, muy mo’ betta. Mother’s estate is all wrapped up, with a shiny bow. Just in time for the holidays. We can finally stop “picking the scab” of administrivia crap, and get on with the business of remembering warm cookie recipes, ridiculous stories, and generally healing enough so that happier memories can bubble up and elbow those last few icky bits to their proper proportion in equilibrium of All Things Mother.

So yeah, big fat exhale on my end lately. It’s allowed me to go into a whole ‘nuther flavor whirl of activity, after which my body tends to protest in the way it knows best: shut down.

As in, brain no-thinky, eyes no-blinky, body no-move-y. Heck, I haven’t even been on FB in over a week. *gasp*

So what’s next? I am already generally pretty good about living for “now”, and all that jazz, if I do say so myself. (yay me!) Of course there are always some things I’d like to do more of, or more consciously, in 2011:

· Love on my doggie.

· Move. (physically, not household, god forbid)

· Wash face before bed! (yeah, I suck at that)

· Kindly treat myself like a Third Party more often. (This includes a whole host of “being better to me” kind of stuff—better food, movement, rest, even be kinder to my hair! In general, just focus mostly on doing any and all of it with Kindness.)

· Ditto to hubby Lovey. 🙂

· Get up earlier, just for grins.

· Keep in better contact with folks. (I’m thinking about them, might as well let ‘em know.)

· Blog more. (Really. I just generally don’t know what to say, and there’s a whopping 5 of you out there watching.)

So yeah. Not terribly concrete I suppose, so hard to gold-star. But then again, I revisit this kind of thing about every month or so anyway, not just at New Year’s.

What the hell. Stickers can be fun. So there!

And doggie needs some lovin’. So there’s that too.

(PS– I’d give her a gold star anyday.)