WORK that extra pat of butter, dahlin’

17 01 2012

Love this.

Rock on with your strong self. Inside and out.


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....

that’s MRS. Melanzane, if you please

27 08 2010

If love were a sandwich, it would be this one.

The Melanzane. From Dominics in Waltham, MA.

I think even Lovey wouldn’t kick me outta bed for leaving crumbs, provided he got his own sammich of course. Otherwise there might be a rumble.

guilty as charged

30 07 2010

I’m a big nutty nut.

Every. Single. Line. (!) = True. (except one. You have to guess which one though.)

Nutty, indeed. But we knew that already.

(But I still swear I’m just a beginner.)

Speaking of which, I’m off to study with some wicked smaht yoga masters for a week— see all y’all later…


just a hop, skip and a jump away. (maybe a swim and a hydroplaning rental car thrown in too.)

26 04 2010

Ah… Belize. Ambergris Caye. Just got back.

I have a new found respect for my hip rotators, I miss my travelmates terribly already, plus I may or may not have accidentally molested a sea turtle.

But for now, just a little note about the trip home for your amusement. It was downright comical. Adventure! Let’s see….

  • Water taxi from the Caye to the mainland found me sitting in a full inch of water (it was very refreshing actually)….
  • Puddle jumper plane (Maya air), watched 3 take off, wondered if we’d ever get one, one of the passengers was in the front seat next to the pilot, the plane itself was perfectly pleasant but let’s not kid ourselves: it was a white cargo van with wings. Got to BZE airport on mainland, promptly bought a dry t-shirt.
  • First plane BZE to ATL was fine, upon arrival security in ATL decided what we brought as carry-on on that flight was no-good for the next flight. (Those hammocks are deadly, don’tcha know?) Checked the parcel, less than 10 mins later found out our flight was cancelled. (I swear the bag-check guy already knew! Might be why he was smirking.)
  • Waited around (had a lovely meal with faboo peeps that we may have to smuggle into our bags and kidnap to bring to our fine city) for the next plane, was originally #7 on standby, then migrated to number forty something. (??) Since there was about a snowball’s chance in hell we’d make it onto THAT plane, which was the last of the night (and also now delayed), we cut bait.
  • At 11p we rented a car one-way (my wallet is still in pain from that one– 6x normal car rental cost) and drove 4 hours home in the storms that dropped those tornados in MS/AL. We were white knuckled, but fine. The storms certainly kept us awake.
  • Five hour nap, returned the car the next morning, fetched our luggage from the airport, and finally got a fuzzy hug from Leeloo. A nap ensued shortly thereafter.

What a ride!

Next adventure: Scaling the mountain of laundry.