When one of THESE:
meets one of THESE
your Grampa is gonna need one of these:
The only thing that saved our asses is that the old man had been the one out in the yard with the Viking the day before the storm...
Sunday, April 10, 2011
PSA in pictures...
Rarely am I "wordless" on Wednesday or any other day, but... as we flip Winter the bird and look ahead to our 15 minutes of New England Spring, I'll offer the following PSA. You just have to see this to really appreciate the message.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Like walking, only faster... right?
To say that I "went running" today would be to misconstrue the facts more than slightly. It's one of those wake-up-next-to-a-stranger-with-a-thick-coating-of-tequila-on-your-tongue-and-your-pants-nowhere in-sight situations - all bets are it happened, but you can't attest to the quality of the experience... or so I've heard.
I don't know how the notion took hold, honestly... but there was little planning. The entire thought process was less than a dozen sentences this morning as I sat eating my oatmeal with fresh blueberries and gazing out the window. I saw a very trim little fitness freak jog by looking pain-free and sweatless from where my fat arse was parked... she bobbed by looking strong and fit and effortless.
I thought: "I could run..."
"Running is fast walking... how hard could it be?"
"Remember when you were a kid and you wanted to get somewhere fast? You just ran..."
"Hmmmm. Not one memory of running? Is this possible?"
"Oh well - I could just see how far I could get... um, you know... faster than walking."
"Ugh. Everything is going to jiggle..."
"I could just run on the side streets. Not on the main road. That would cut down on the amount of exposure "the jiggle" gets..."
"Grab your Nikes, Forrest Plump. It's now or never..."
15 minutes later, my brain was the only part of my body that was even slightly prepared for this experience and as you may have gathered from the above internal conversation - "prepared" is a loosely used term here. As the other parts of the body became aware (read: alarmed) by the sudden and foreign acceleration in movement, not to mention confused by the lack of vicious growling or presence of a mob of zombies within 3 feet of my rear end, they began to revolt. The burning sensation in my legs was only eclipsed by the burning in my chest. (FYI - pain trumps self-consciousness! When my calves were on fire I was no longer worried about what was jiggling.) After passing 7 houses, I could barely lift my knees up any longer and I tripped a little - thank God for the jogging stroller or my face might look a little Krueger-esque right now.
Listen up... running is NOT just walking, only faster. Walking is what you do to get to the fridge. Running is an entirely different activity. Running requires that your calves and some other body parts exert enormous energy to propel your lard ass up and forward. In rapid succession. One thing is for sure - today I would have been zombie chow. There was lots of walking during my "run." But I didn't stop just because there was jiggling or a burning, leaden feeling in my legs or because I was foaming at the mouth... And I might even try it again. You see, I grew up a quitter and this feeling of "try it again... keep going." is new and interesting. The little chubby girl inside me who worried about what the rest of the softball team was thinking when I didn't hit the ball or when I clumsily ran to first base is not the voice I hear anymore.
Please allow a moment for the following related A.D.Detour:
One of my past preschoolers who'd experienced many of life's lessons via the School of Hard Knocks at the ripe old age of 3, spent the first 6 weeks of school scowling and stomping around all morning long. When he did speak it was to refuse to do whatever we asked or suggested and most conversations with him usually ended in "Shut up, you FREAK!" There's a little bit of Linus that lingers in me to this day - whenever I'm listening to someone I think is full of shit, I can hear his 3 year-old, 2 pack-a-day voice growling those trademark words.
And that's where I'm at with the little girl inside me who says I'm too fat to do stuff. I've already tried nurturing her. And as it seems that all she responds to is a never ending supply of Nutty Bars, now all I have left to say is "Shut up, you FREAK!" I'm currently planning my next "run." And by planning, I mean to say that I'm teaching the Viking how to dial 9-1-1 on my cell phone.
I don't know how the notion took hold, honestly... but there was little planning. The entire thought process was less than a dozen sentences this morning as I sat eating my oatmeal with fresh blueberries and gazing out the window. I saw a very trim little fitness freak jog by looking pain-free and sweatless from where my fat arse was parked... she bobbed by looking strong and fit and effortless.
I thought: "I could run..."
"Running is fast walking... how hard could it be?"
"Remember when you were a kid and you wanted to get somewhere fast? You just ran..."
"Hmmmm. Not one memory of running? Is this possible?"
"Oh well - I could just see how far I could get... um, you know... faster than walking."
"Ugh. Everything is going to jiggle..."
"I could just run on the side streets. Not on the main road. That would cut down on the amount of exposure "the jiggle" gets..."
"Grab your Nikes, Forrest Plump. It's now or never..."
15 minutes later, my brain was the only part of my body that was even slightly prepared for this experience and as you may have gathered from the above internal conversation - "prepared" is a loosely used term here. As the other parts of the body became aware (read: alarmed) by the sudden and foreign acceleration in movement, not to mention confused by the lack of vicious growling or presence of a mob of zombies within 3 feet of my rear end, they began to revolt. The burning sensation in my legs was only eclipsed by the burning in my chest. (FYI - pain trumps self-consciousness! When my calves were on fire I was no longer worried about what was jiggling.) After passing 7 houses, I could barely lift my knees up any longer and I tripped a little - thank God for the jogging stroller or my face might look a little Krueger-esque right now.
Listen up... running is NOT just walking, only faster. Walking is what you do to get to the fridge. Running is an entirely different activity. Running requires that your calves and some other body parts exert enormous energy to propel your lard ass up and forward. In rapid succession. One thing is for sure - today I would have been zombie chow. There was lots of walking during my "run." But I didn't stop just because there was jiggling or a burning, leaden feeling in my legs or because I was foaming at the mouth... And I might even try it again. You see, I grew up a quitter and this feeling of "try it again... keep going." is new and interesting. The little chubby girl inside me who worried about what the rest of the softball team was thinking when I didn't hit the ball or when I clumsily ran to first base is not the voice I hear anymore.
Please allow a moment for the following related A.D.Detour:
One of my past preschoolers who'd experienced many of life's lessons via the School of Hard Knocks at the ripe old age of 3, spent the first 6 weeks of school scowling and stomping around all morning long. When he did speak it was to refuse to do whatever we asked or suggested and most conversations with him usually ended in "Shut up, you FREAK!" There's a little bit of Linus that lingers in me to this day - whenever I'm listening to someone I think is full of shit, I can hear his 3 year-old, 2 pack-a-day voice growling those trademark words.
And that's where I'm at with the little girl inside me who says I'm too fat to do stuff. I've already tried nurturing her. And as it seems that all she responds to is a never ending supply of Nutty Bars, now all I have left to say is "Shut up, you FREAK!" I'm currently planning my next "run." And by planning, I mean to say that I'm teaching the Viking how to dial 9-1-1 on my cell phone.
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